


Anam Cara

by EmHunter



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 18OI AU Week 2020 (Yuri!!! on Ice), 18OI AU Week 2020: Day 5, All will be well in the end, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bring tissues, Childhood Memories, Ice Skating, Ireland, Irish Language, Irish history, M/M, Memories, Mutual Pining, Past Lives, Sad with a Happy Ending, do not copy to another site, mention of OC character death in the past, mention of starvation in a historical context, mention of violence in the past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:55:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 64,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24553498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmHunter/pseuds/EmHunter
Summary: Yuuri starts having weird flashbacks at a very young age. They freak him out, if he’s honest. Victor bears a scar on his neck but he was never cut. He believes that he has a soulmate somewhere in the world, and when he meets him, everything will fall into place.But is there a guarantee that soulmates always recognise one another?Written for 18OI AU Week 2020 Day 5: Soulmates.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 153
Kudos: 176
Collections: 18OI AU Week 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you squint, you might see what this is based on.
> 
> Song lyrics quoted are from “Dante’s Prayer” and “The Old Ways”, both by Loreena McKennitt. Book quotes are from _Anam Cara. The Book of Celtic Wisdom_ by John O’Donohue.
> 
> You will notice that there is no mention of Viccchan in this story. It’s canon divergence, remember. I felt Yuuri has enough on his plate to handle Vicchan dying on top of everything else. So, for all we know, Vicchan lives. ;)

~ Yuuri ~

_I did not believe because I could not see_

_Though you came to me in the night_

I

When Yuuri was four, he began washing his hands especially well.

He washed his hands with so much concentration that the tip of his tongue peeked out from between his lips as he stood on a wooden footstep so he could reach the sink. When he accompanied his mother to the _konbini_ one day he spotted a small blue brush that he begged her to buy for him so he could scrub the dirt from under his nails.

His mother and the shopkeeper praised him for how well he took care of himself.

It never occurred to Yuuri that his parents and sister couldn’t see the earth on his hands or the dirt under his nails that come from digging up potatoes.

II

When Yuuri was seven, he asked his sister.

“Mari-neechan…”

They were sitting behind the school building in Hasetsu, Yuuri having to wait until Mari’s classes finished so that they could walk home together. Mari smoked a sneaky cigarette, hiding behind the equipment shed. Yuuri never told on her. He was sure their parents were able to smell it on Mari’s school uniform, but they never punished her as far as he knew, and they luckily never asked him. Not that he would have told on his sister. He protected her just as she protected him. 

“When did we stop growing our own vegetables?”

Mari was just in the middle of trying to exhale a perfect smoke ring. Startled, she began to cough, then looked down at her brother, brows pulled together in slight irritation.

“We never did,” she said, adding a ‘What are you talking about?’ glance for good measure.

Yuuri frowned all the way home.

III

When Yuuri was seventeen, he sat in his childhood friends’ house rocking a tiny baby in his arms. Yuuko, two years his senior and the friend who had gotten him into figure skating and, more importantly, into one certain figure skater, had fallen in love with Takeshi. Takeshi in turn had become a good friend to Yuuri once he had outgrown his silly notions of bullying and teasing Yuuri about his weight. Most likely, Yuuko had driven it out of him, too. They were just newly-weds when Yuuko became pregnant. And here Yuuri was now, admiring their newborn triplets. The shock had still not quite settled since the first ultrasound scan.

When Yuuri had arrived, he had found three bright red screaming babies and his two friends close to tears themselves. Now, it was just Yuuri and Yuuko left in the living room with one baby each. Takeshi had tiptoed from the room to the nursery with Loop after she had miraculously calmed down and fallen asleep in Yuuri’s arms.

“You’ve always been very good with babies, Yuuri-kun,” Yuuko remarked.

Yuuri’s head whipped up. “Why would you say that?!” His tone was much harsher than he had wanted it to be. Behind his glasses, his eyes were so wide he looked almost panicked. He looked down, worried after his outburst, but Axel slept, looking like a little monkey with the thick mop of black hair on her head and the face scrunched from crying even in her sleep.

And yet, she was as adorable as anything Yuuri could imagine. He had no explanation for the way his chest felt so tight and his heart so full, or his eyes burnt with unshed tears. No explanation at all.

“Don’t you remember?” Yuuko smiled. “When we were younger and people sometimes brought their babies to the Ice Castle? You always went over when they cried, and you always calmed them down.”

“The crying irritated me when I was skating,” Yuuri said, but it sounded wrong even to himself.

He knew as well as Yuuko did that he had always felt drawn by babies, had loved to look at their round little faces and to calm them when they cried, rocking the buggy or carrying them in his arms. For many years the people of Hasetsu had been good-humouredly teasing Hiroko and Toshiya Katsuki that their Yuuri was wishing for a little brother or sister.

Yuuko rose from the chair and came over to Yuuri with a persistently griping Lutz in her arms.

“Would you mind swapping and trying your luck with this one here?”

She carefully knelt down in front of Yuuri and exchanged the babies in their arms with an expertise she must have practised countless times with Takeshi over the past couple of weeks.

“Yuuri-kun…” Yuuko did not go back to her seat but remained on her knees by his side. “I know we haven’t skated together forever and I’ve been very busy with getting married and having babies but… you do know you can still tell me everything, don’t you?”

Yuuri looked at her while he gently rocked her baby daughter in his arms. It was true. Yuuko was still one of the very few people he allowed to get close to and into his heart of glass because he felt he could trust them not to break it. The things alone she knew about his crush. The fact alone that she never laughed at him for it but always encouraged his goal and insisted that one day he would meet him, compete on the same ice as him. Yuuri knew that he could trust Yuuko with his life.

And his greatest secret.

“Yuu-chan. Sometimes I think I’m going crazy.” Yuuri lowered his eyes. “I keep seeing these things, but they’re not in my head, they’re… they feel so real. I think I’m going mad. For the longest time when I was small I was convinced we grew potatoes behind our house and I was digging them up with my own hands. I haven’t told my parents, or Mari, because I don’t want them to worry about me and take me to see a doctor, or even worse, a shrink. And it’s not all the time either, but sometimes, out of nowhere… they will be there, and I will feel like I’m in a completely different place, seeing things I have seen before, even though I know for a fact I cannot have.”

“You mean like dreams?” Yuuko didn’t recoil. Yuuri knew she wouldn’t have anyways, but he was still glad about it.

In his arms, Lutz had stopped fussing and fallen asleep, tiny thumb in her mouth.

Very slowly, Yuuri shook his head, his eyes locked with Yuuko’s. “I mean like memories.”

IV

When Yuuri was eighteen, he met Phichit. He had moved to Detroit to train under Celestino Cialdini as well as attend college there. At first he was a little overwhelmed by a roommate who was the complete opposite of himself in so many aspects - loud, outgoing, eternally optimistic. But it soon turned out that they complimented each other quite well, each providing what the other one lacked. They shared the same ambitions when it came to their skating, talked shop for whole nights on end when they watched live or taped footage of competitions.

Phichit never mocked Yuuri for the posters on the walls in his room. If anything, there was a little good-humoured teasing. It was impossible to mock Yuuri’s hero-worship of someone who was possibly the one true hero young skaters like themselves had to worship and look up to in their sport.

~ ~ ~

Going out to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day was, of course, Phichit’s idea. He bought a six pack of Guinness and painted shamrocks on their cheeks as they drank them while getting ready at home. He made sure they each wore at least one green item of clothing, before they headed downtown to hit one of Detroit’s oldest Irish pubs.

It has heaving with people by the time they arrived. Normally it would have caused Yuuri a bout of anxiety, but he was pleasantly inebriated, and the happy party atmosphere was contagious. He had no idea how he did it but Phichit managed to get them drinks, holding the glasses high over his head as he weaved his way back through the crowd from the bar to where Yuuri was leaning against a pillar in the middle of the room, a spot that provided an excellent view of the small stage where a live band was playing.

They laughed and danced with strangers as much as was possible in the crammed space, had another drink and sang along with everyone else, crookedly and making up lyrics when they didn’t know the words.

It was the slow intro of a violin that had Yuuri feeling like an ice-cold fist took a good grip of his insides. He froze mid-movement, lowered the glass he had been about to drink from, and was barely able to hold on to it because all of a sudden he seemed to lose control over his hand. Spotting a passing waitress, he asked her to take his glass, and he probably looked desperate enough for her to take if off him right away before he she disappeared between people.

On stage, the singer launched into the first verse. Yuuri felt sick. He knew every single word. He knew every single word of the chorus that would follow, and the next two verses. There was nowhere he could go, the crowd was heavy this close to the stage, and he felt moved along by arms raised and waved back and forth, bodies swaying to the tune that wreaked havoc in his insides. He clamped one hand before his mouth for fear of being sick, and the anxiety this fear brought with it almost brought him to his knees.

The song raged inside him and he felt every verse like a physical impact. He felt the loneliness of the harbour walls. He felt the cold of a prison cell. He felt the vastness of an abandoned land. He felt fear, and pain, and hunger. Somehow he had made it back to the pillar and leaned back against the concrete, a picture frame cutting into his spine as he pressed himself so closely into the wall as if it was his only support ever. His legs threatened to give out under him and he doubled over, heaving with the desperate efforts of trying to breathe. A hand gripped his upper arm all of a sudden, and he flinched.

“Yuuri???”

Phichit. Yelling over the music.

“Yuuri! Are you okay?”

Yuuri looked up, tears suddenly running from his eyes, and he shook his head, but Phichit was already talking, scolding himself for asking such a dumb question when he saw Yuuri was everything but okay. He took a firm hold of Yuuri’s arm and paved them a way through the crowded pub until he swung the door open and they stumbled out into the cold March night, past the small groups of smokers until they found a street corner and Yuuri doubled over again and threw up all over the pavement. Phichit held on to him, rubbing his back and murmuring some soothing nonsense until Yuuri was straightening up again. Phichit handed him a tissue, and Yuuri wiped his mouth and face.

“Oh god!” Yuuri groaned. “This is so embarrassing!”

“Yuuri, come on, let’s get out of here!” Phichit took a firmer hold of his arm and dragged him away. Yuuri kept looking back at the mess he’d made like he was wondering how to clean it up.

“Yuuri, how many people do you think throw up around here on St. Patrick’s Day? Let’s just go!” There was a slightly hysterical edge to Phichit’s voice, as if he doubted his own words.

Another couple of blocks along they paused at a bus stop, breathing heavily as they slumped down side by side on the metal seats. Phichit placed one arm around Yuuri’s shoulder.

“Yuuri, what happened in there?” he asked softly.

Yuuri looked scared, like a deer caught in the headlights. “Phichit, you would never believe me!”

“Try me.” Phichit jumped up, knelt down in front of him and ran one hand through Yuuri’s already tousled hair. “Let’s go home and you can tell me everything, okay?”

After a long moment of hesitation, Yuuri nodded.

Back at their dorm, Yuuri had a quick shower and change of clothes, feeling as repulsed by throwing up in the streets as any sane Japanese person would. He snuggled back in one sofa corner while Phichit remained standing in front of him, clearly nervous about what Yuuri was about to tell him.

“Phichit…” Yuuri took a deep breath. “You are going to think I’m crazy, because, hell! _I_ think I’m crazy! And Phichit, I have only told this to one person in the whole world. Yuuko, my childhood friend.”

“Okay.” Phichit nodded, visibly steeling himself. He gave Yuuri an encouraging nod.

“Ever since I was small I’ve been having those… flashbacks. I didn’t know what to call them, because they were not dreams, they felt so real, like memories of something that actually happened to me. After talking to Yuuko, I decided to call them flashbacks. About myself living in… a different place. At a different time. And I think it might have been in Ireland, because there have been Irish things in these flashbacks.”

Phichit had started pacing back and forth in front of the couch, nodding as Yuuri spoke. Yuuri found it a little irritating, but he was glad Phichit’s face remained completely open and he didn’t recoil from what he heard.

“Most of the time it doesn’t bother me much,” Yuuri went on. “I don’t have them all the time. Since I came here it barely happened. I’m just really focused on skating and college, and by all these new impacts of living here. But tonight! I heard this song and it hit me so hard out of nowhere! I swear I have never heard this song in my life. I have never been to an Irish pub or listened to Irish music. But when they started, all these… feelings suddenly overwhelmed me. And I knew every word, Phichit. I knew every single word before he sang them! I knew the whole song so well almost as if… as if I’d written it myself.”

Yuuri fell quiet, after his voice had gotten louder and slightly more urgent the more he said.

Phichit stopped pacing and looked at Yuuri. “Okay, so... you mean like you’ve lived before and these are flashbacks of your previous life?”

Yuuri gaped at Phichit for a long moment. “How can you just say this so calmly as if it was not completely ridiculous?”

“Yuuri, for god’s sake!” Phichit put his hands in his hips. “From the way you behaved I expected you to tell me you were an alien from outer space or turned into a werewolf at full moon or something equally unrealistic!”

“What I just told you sounds _realistic_ to you?”

Phichit shrugged. “So you lived before and remember that. Like thousands of other people all over the world!”

Yuuri just stared at him with his eyes and mouth wide open. Why was Phichit not more shocked?

Phichit stared back at him. His voice, when he spoke again, was soft. “Have you never thought of it _this_ way?”

Dumbfounded, Yuuri shook his head.

~ ~ ~

Phichit made lists. Like a man on a mission, he decided to help Yuuri solve the mystery of those flashbacks and figure out his previous life. If anyone had told Yuuri that this would be what kept him busy between practice and classes and homework and skating competitions, he would not have believed it. He emailed Yuuko about it at some point, admitting to her and to himself that he felt relieved about one other person knowing and taking him seriously.

“Yuuri, are you sure you’ve never been to Ireland?” Phichit asked one afternoon when they were lazing around on the sofa in their living room-come-kitchen, resting after an early practice. “Perhaps when you were really little your family went on a trip—”

Yuuri cut him off.

“No, Phichit. I’m Katsuki Yuuri, I was born and raised in Japan. I have never lived anywhere else but Japan until I came to live here in Detroit, and I have travelled to international competitions but I have never been to Ireland. Never!”

Phichit started chewing on the pen he’d used to cross something off his list. He sighed.

~ ~ ~

Yuuri was dreaming. It was hot in the room and he felt confined by blankets so he kicked them off. The heat remained around his legs and he saw pale limbs entangled with his own, felt someone breathing hot against his mouth, soft lips pressing against his own, a tongue coaxing his lips apart. He felt hands, in his hair, skimming down his chest, saw slender fingers wrapped around his cock.

He woke shivering, finding his blankets on the floor where he must have kicked them, his body aroused and glowing with heat, while his heart was aching for the presence of the person who had held him. Loved him.

In the dim moonlight coming in through the window he was able to make out the face on the poster right opposite his bed, placed there so it would be the first thing he saw each morning, the last thing he saw every night. He could almost see the light blue eyes looking at him across the room. Spooked, Yuuri grabbed his blankets from the floor and buried himself well under them, trying to leave this world behind and bury himself in that love that had woken him up instead. He didn’t find that feeling again, only blue eyes, and unfamiliar words.

“What words?” Phichit asked when Yuuri told him about his dream at the breakfast table the next morning.

“I have no idea what they mean or how to pronounce them.” Yuuri frowned.

Phichit unlocked his phone, opened a new note and pushed it towards Yuuri on the table. Taking the hint, Yuuri typed the words into Phichit’s phone.

_Anam Cara_

Phichit took back his phone and started googling while they were still eating. Yuuri had long given up finding phones at the table rude; he wasn’t as notorious as Phichit but he, too, usually looked up or read something on his phone while eating, especially when he was alone.

Phichit’s eyebrows rose as he stared at his phone. He chewed his mouthful of cereal so quickly the noise was deafening.

Yuuri sipped his green tea quietly while he listening to Phichit rambling on, reading things he found online out loud as he came across them.

_“…believed that your Anam Cara could be a friend, a companion or spiritual guide… also believed that everyone… ultimately sought to find their true soul mate… never be fully whole… unique relationships with the people in our lives that complete us… a deep and special friendship… cannot be broken or wounded or limited by distance… two individuals have been united at the level of the soul… someone to whom you can reveal yourself as you truly are, without any pretense…”_

Yuuri jumped when Phichit threw his phone on the table, tea sloshing over the brim of his mug.

“Of course!” Phichit slammed his forehead. “Soulmates! Why didn’t I think of that?!”

~ ~ ~

Yuuri was washing the dinner plates one night when his head whipped up because he was suddenly very certain of something.

“Phichit, I was married. I had a wife.” He frowned briefly. “I gave her a ring, a golden ring with one of those Celtic patterns that look eternal, and there was a blue stone sitting in the middle.”

Phichit took a plate from him to dry it. “Wow! Congratulations! I mean, well done, previous-life-Yuuri.”

“I think she died.”

“Oh.”

Yuuri’s eyebrows shot up.

“I mean, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Yuuri!” Phichit averted his eyes and concentrated on rubbing the plate dry with a dishcloth like no plate in history had ever been dried before. 

“I think I had a baby, too.” Yuuri rinsed foam off a bowl he had just washed.

“Why are you blushing?” Phichit smiled when he took the bowl from him and saw his face. “You would have had at least one baby if you were married in Ireland. Catholic? Birth control forbidden?”

The sight of Yuuri’s sad face made Phichit tear up. “Oh, Yuuri.” He put down the bowl and the dishcloth and wrapped both arms around him. “Did the baby… too…?” He didn’t dare finish the sentence.

“I… don’t know. But I think so. I never see for sure, but there’s so much sadness, Phichit, so much heartache. I can almost feel it physically sometimes. Something terrible must have happened. Where else would this sadness come from?”

Yuuri wiped his hands dry half-heartedly against his pants and wound his arms around Phichit, allowing himself the comfort of a hug for a moment.

“I think we need a beer,” Phichit decided, and told Yuuri to sit on the couch already while he finished the dishes.

“It’s all still so confusing,” Yuuri said a little while later and took a healthy gulp from his bottle of beer. “But I’m pretty sure about the wife and the baby. I emailed Yuuko about it and she said this would explain why I’ve always been so good with babies. She said I never needed to be shown how to hold them, or how to handle them. And sometimes I see this baby, and I feel her weight in my arms… it’s the strangest thing! She’s tiny, and she has so much dark hair, just like Japanese babies, but she’s not a memory of the triplets, because her eyes are, you know. Not Asian. And she feels… oh god, that’s crazy.”

“Yuuri, we talked about crazy.” Phichit shook his head. “We agreed crazy doesn’t exist in this.”

Yuuri looked sad. “She feels like _mine_ , Phichit. It hurts so much when I dream about her and wake up and she’s gone.”

Phichit moved up close on the sofa until he could wrap his arms around Yuuri. “I’m so sorry!” he said.

“Is there just sadness? No happy memories of your previous life?” Phichit asked at last.

Suddenly Yuuri smiled. And Phichit teared up.

“What?” Yuuri asked, shocked.

“Nothing, it’s just…” Phichit _sounded_ teary too. “You smiling, it’s like… the sun breaking through on a really, really dull day.”

“Phichit…” Yuuri breathed.

“It’s true.” Phichit gave him a friendly shove. “Tell me something happy about your previous life!”

“There was love.” Yuuri scrunched up his face in thought. “A feeling of home. Sometimes I’m laughing… and someone… touches me.”

_“Now_ we’re talking!” Phichit grinned. Yuuri blushed.

“Your baby must have been a real love child then.” Phichit chuckled when Yuuri blushed further. “I mean, you remember her, it seems only logical you would remember… _making_ her.” He winked.

“Phichit!” Yuuri reprimanded. “Besides…” He stopped talking and kept drinking instead.

Phichit waited patiently. He knew sometimes it was best to give Yuuri time.

It took Yuuri two more beer and several attempts to tell Phichit.

“When I remember someone touching me it’s not a woman… it’s a man.”

~ ~ ~

Phichit dug up every movie about Ireland or set in Ireland or filmed in Ireland he could get his hands on.

“Ciao Ciao will freak out if he finds out we’re watching this instead of competition videos,” Yuuri commented drily and reached for the vegetable sticks on a plate between them on Phichit’s bed. They were sitting side by side, watching a movie about a matchmaking festival on the laptop where it was set up on a chair in front of the bed.

“Yeah.” Phichit grinned around a celery stalk, unfazed.

“God, I hate this.” He took the celery from his mouth and stared at it like it was the enemy. “We should be eating potato chips while watching movies.”

Yuuri hummed his agreement. He was only too right, but they had to watch their diet during the season, he more than Phichit, though he appreciated Phichit sticking to his strict diet along with him.

“Yuuri, this place looks like so much fun.” Phichit pointed at the screen with the celery. “We should go there anyway, if only for a holiday.”

Yuuri chewed on the last bite of a carrot stick. It felt like it was getting more and more in his mouth, but he would never leave food unfinished. He had never been able to.

“We would have to go there off-season,” he said, a little sadly. “Just imagine what those burgers and those huge glasses of beer would do to our weight.”

“It would be so worth it though,” Phichit decided and bit off a piece of celery, making a face like he was eating a worm.

“Damn, I know we’ve had dinner like an hour ago, but these stupid vegetable sticks always make me crave some real food.” Yuuri took another carrot stick. His hand froze halfway to his mouth.

“Phichit. Do you think the fact that I’ve always loved my food so much might have something to do with what happened to me in the past?” he asked. The thought had hit him out of nowhere.

Phichit turned his head to look at him, his eyebrows nearly hitting his hairline.

“People who drowned in a previous life are often afraid of water, aren’t they?” Yuuri went on. “Could it be that I went hungry a lot? Or is it simply my mother’s cooking?”

“It seems far fetched but then so is everything we’ve thought about so far… and you do tend to binge eat when you’re stressed, or anxious,” Phichit said carefully. “Like someone could take the food away from you. Or it’s not enough. Or you haven’t eaten for a long time.”

“The baby is very small…” Yuuri lowered the carrot stick. “I mean, so were the triplets, but they were triplets, they just had less room, and Yuuko is a tiny woman. Other babies that age… I’m sure they weigh more.”

They kept on watching the rest of the movie in silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts.

Later in the night, while Yuuri had dozed off and was snoring quietly, curled into a ball on Phichit’s bed, Phichit was sitting at his desk, the clicking of the keys unnaturally loud in the room as he typed quickly, talking quietly under his breath as he did so.

“Something terrible must have happened… something sad…” His eyes widened when he clicked on a new link.

“Irish potato famine,” Phichit muttered to himself. “Jackpot!”

~ ~ ~

As Yuuri started to take part in more international competitions as a senior, the flashbacks became less and less. He focussed too much on his skating and on trying to keep up with classes. Phichit, too, become so busy that he couldn’t keep up his detective work as much as he would have liked to, though it was never far from his mind. It was a rainy afternoon on a rest day that he picked up his notes again. They were lazing around on the sofa in their dorm room, having just watched a recording of the previous year’s Grand Prix Final, and it had left Yuuri lying dreamily in the sofa corner after his usual elaborate raving over Victor’s free skate was over.

Phichit had started frowning when there was a close-up of Victor in the kiss and cry. Yuuri always went quiet when there were close-ups of Victor, especially close-ups like these that had Victor smiling his heart-shaped smile directly into the camera with his blue eyes shining, so Phichit left Yuuri to it and reached for his list.

“Coming back to those sea blue eyes…” Phichit’s mouth did the weirdest contortions as he thought about something he saw on his list but looked like he was chewing on a piece of lemon.

“Have you considered Victor?”

“What?” Yuuri coloured crimson within a split second, jumping in the sofa corner as if Phichit had just asked him to parade naked across campus. “Phichit, WHAT! Why? How does Victor come into this?”

“You’ve been obsessing over him from the moment you saw him. You’ve become a figure skater because of him. Everything about him is pulling you, like some… giant Russian magnet or something. You never date. You don’t even pay attention to people who might be interested in you.”

“I’m concentrating on skating, Phichit. You know the drill. And school. It’s not that easy for me to keep up with classes in English all the time, you know? I can only focus on so much!”

“Excuses.” Phichit made it sound provocative on purpose, Yuuri knew that. He knew Phichit was trying to make him come out of his comfort zone but he didn’t want to swallow the bait.

“Your English is fine.” Phichit made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “You’re doing well in your classes because that’s we Asians do, we never learned how to slack at school, so don’t give me that.”

“It’s not like people fall over themselves asking me out,” Yuuri huffed.

“Oh my god, Yuuri, have you _seen_ yourself!” Phichit threw both hands up in the air. “You’re the shit!”

In his sofa corner, Yuuri blushed.

“See?” Phichit pointed at him. “That right there! That’s what makes people flail left and right! Your shyness. The fact that you’re not even aware of how hot you are. You’re gorgeous, smart, and sweet, and timid, and people dig that, and you! Don’t! Know! And when you dance or skate, without your glasses, you flick that switch and suddenly you’re so sexy, sometimes I wonder why the ice doesn’t melt because I think, fuck, it’s getting hot in here!”

“Stop that!” Yuuri murmured, but a smile was starting to show on his face.

“People are attracted to you, Yuuri, you just don’t notice. And I firmly believe it’s partly because you’re too focussed on skating, and partly because you lack the self-confidence to think of yourself like that, and partly because… well.”

“Well what?” Yuuri demanded.

Phichit looked a little flustered, clearly contemplating whether he should say what was on his mind or not. One wrong word on this topic could set Yuuri off like a spark would a powder keg, he knew that. Steeling himself, he took a deep breath.

“Because I think you might subconsciously be hung up on someone and nobody else will ever come close to living up to your expectations,” he mumbled.

“I… _what_?” Yuuri stared, open-mouthed and shocked.

There it was, that edge to Yuuri’s voice Phichit had been dreading. But Phichit was on a roll now, and there was a part of him that desperately wanted to shake Yuuri awake. So he raised his chin.

“I think…” He looked firmly at Yuuri. “That your crush on Victor is much more than just idolisation and hero-worship of a fellow athlete, and even though you may not be aware of it or ready to admit it to yourself, you never give anyone else a chance because Victor is the only one you really want to be with.”

Yuuri stared at Phichit for minutes on end after Phichit dropped that bomb on him.

In the silence that ensued Phichit picked up his ever faithful notepad he had lying close to the sofa as usual and went over his list he had assembled of facts and theories about Yuuri’s flashbacks.

“And you say those blue eyes keep showing up in your flashbacks.” Phichit looked up from his notes.“Someone with pale skin is touching you. Now, if Victor doesn’t have pale skin I don’t know who does.”

“But it’s not Victor who’s touching me! I would _know_ if it was Victor!” Yuuri almost shouted because he found it so hard to reign in his agitation.

“How?” Phichit shook his head so much it rippled through his entire upper body.

“I would just know!” Yuuri insisted. “Isn’t this how this works? If this soulmate thing exists – you see that person and recognise each other? So wouldn’t I recognise him if it was… Victor?” He looked panicked.

“Yuuri.” Phichit looked at him as affectionately as if he was a cute little kitten. “You can’t even say his name without blushing. Do you seriously think you would recognise him if he was your soulmate, leave alone approach him about it?”

Yuuri huffed. “Shouldn’t _he_ be approaching _me_? If he was my soulmate?”

“Maybe he doesn’t remember yet and you need to, I don’t know. Trigger his memories?”

“This is ridiculous, Phichit.” Yuuri shook his head. “This is Ireland! Not Russia. There’s Celtic stuff and an Irish folk song I remember the words to even though I know for a fact I’ve never heard it in my life. How could any of this possibly have even the slightest thing to do with Victor?”

“Okay, so I’m asking you, the walking encyclopaedia on all things Victor Nikiforov – has Victor ever been to Ireland?”

“Not that I know of.” Yuuri hoped that Phichit couldn’t hear the frantic pounding of his heart from his side of the room.

“Dammit.” Phichit crossed something off his list.

~ ~ ~

The tickets to the Irish dancing show were an early birthday present from Phichit. Yuuri had done exceedingly well this season, his skills and grim determination securing him a spot in the Grand Prix Final. Celestino felt a little reward in the form of a night out was in order, though he reminded them both to show up bright and early for practice the next morning as they set off straight from the rink. They got changed in the locker rooms, leaving their skates and training clothes for the next morning.

They cried. A lot. Both of them were completely mesmerised by the incredible combination of haunting music and pounding drums and a choreography that brought the house down.

“I had no idea ensemble dancing could be like that!” Phichit was raving all the way to the bus stop, unable to shut up about the powerful performance they had just witnessed. “D’you think I could do that on ice?”

Yuuri was quiet. Smiling wistfully, he watched Phichit flailing. They took a seat at the back of the bus and he looked at their reflections in the window for a moment, two Asian boys huddled in warm coats and hats and scarves and gloves because the Detroit winters always turned them into penguins.

“She was a dancer,” Yuuri said at last, turning his head to look at him when Phichit had finally stopped talking and run out of excited “Oh my god!”s.

Phichit’s eyes widened. By now it was very clear between them who ‘she’ was, and he didn’t need an explanation.

“She was?” Phichit smiled over the scarf he had pulled down just low enough so he could talk but was still wrapped up against the cold.

Yuuri nodded, a fond smile playing in the corners of his mouth. “There was a river… she loved to dance by the river’s edge. There was a huge tree. An ash.” He saw the question mark in Phichit’s face.

“It was an ash tree, Phichit. I know,” he added.

“Okay.” Phichit nodded. His brow crinkled in thought.

The props on stage for the show they had seen had been more like paintings and silhouettes. There had been no trees that were more than abstract shadows, no rivers. Phichit knew Yuuri’s descriptions did not spring from something he just seen on stage. They sprang from deep down inside of him.

“Yuuri, we have to go there,” Phichit announced as he pressed the button for their stop and rose from his seat as the bus slowed down.

“To Ireland?” Yuuri frowned and hid so well behind his scarf that his glasses fogged over from his breathing as they got off the bus and started walking up to their dorm.

Phichit nodded. “Between seasons and when uni is on break, we should just go. You will never know otherwise, and it’s driving you crazy. You need closure of some sorts. Or triggers to regain full memory. Besides, we could do with a little holiday. I’m getting the feeling that you will find all your answers there.”

Yuuri followed him in silence. Wishing he could have said that he didn’t secretly think Phichit was right.

V

When Yuuri was twenty-three, he met Victor Nikiforov.

The Grand Prix Final took place in Sochi that year, and Yuuri couldn’t express enough how grateful he was for the fact that Celestino had let Phichit come along, the both of them insisting Phichit worked right wonders as moral support for Yuuri and in handling his anxiety.

Yuuri kept mostly to himself in the locker room, trying to battle his pre-competition nerves. He replied politely yet curtly to the other skaters’ greetings, but then all six of them were tense with concentration, earphones in with their individual music, their minds on their routines as they went through their warm-ups and stretches. Apart from Chris Giacometti none of the other five skaters actively sought to talk to Yuuri either. Yuuri was glad for it. A part of him still believed that it was just sheer dumb luck that had landed him here, despite Phichit’s best attempts. Phichit had tried to hammer this home a million times - he wasn’t an insignificant no-name skater any longer. He was Japan’s Ace, one of the six top skaters who had qualified for the Grand Prix Final. It was easy to believe until he set foot into the arena and was engulfed by awe and pre-final tension.

Yuuri ignored Victor, intimidated by his overwhelming presence, even though he was always very well aware of when Victor was close, even without seeing him or hearing his laughter or soft voice with his accented English. There was nothing Yuuri would have loved more than talk to Victor. But not before he had to skate.

He skated miserably.

He flubbed almost every single one of his jumps, and if it hadn’t been for his step sequence his already low score would have been even lower. Coming off the ice, he didn’t look at anyone, head lowered in humiliation and anger with himself as he put his skate guards on with much more vigour than necessary and stomped off to the kiss and cry. Celestino and Phichit tried to comfort him with some meaningless nonsense that went way over Yuuri’s head. All he could think about was how he had completely humiliated himself in front of Victor. How presumptuous of him to ever believe he was good enough to share the ice with him.

He wouldn’t have gone to the banquet if it hadn’t been for Phichit. For a while he tried to persuade Phichit to just go by himself, mingle, get to know some people he would probably be friends with soon because he was this close to qualifying for leading competitions, and Phichit just made friends easily, unlike Yuuri, who still considered Phichit his only real friend, not only on the skating circuit but also in college, and outside Hasetsu.

Yuuri was on his fifth glass of champagne when Victor approached him.

“I’ve always found these banquets most dreadfully boring if it wasn’t for the champagne.”

Yuuri swung around at the sound of the voice that sent shivers down his spine. How many times had he listened to this voice, every interview played a million times over. Every rise and fall of his intonation was familiar to Yuuri. Yuuri knew exactly where Victor put the stress in which English word in his still very noticeable Russian accent.

“Victor…” Not the most eloquent greeting, Yuuri knew, but at least hadn’t stumbled over the syllables, despite the fact that there were twice as many in Victor’s name in his Japanese accent.

His eyes flitted around the room, searching Phichit, asking for help. But Phichit, talking to someone at the other end of the room, just gave him a huge smile and thumbs up. Yuuri was on his own. For this being the moment he had been waiting and longing for for so many years, he felt exceedingly unprepared.

“I don’t think we’ve ever been properly introduced…” Victor smiled at him, though he did look a little shy? No, couldn’t be, Yuuri decided. Victor Nikiforov wouldn’t.

With the courage of four glasses of champagne, Yuuri held out his hand.

“Katsuki Yuuri.” He felt his face turn pink with a massive blush. “I mean, Yuuri.”

“I know.” Victor shook his hand. His touch felt warm and firm, and Yuuri felt a pleasant tingle. “Victor.”

“I know.” Yuuri laughed. So did Victor.

He irritated Yuuri. The way he was so… human, so down to earth. The way he was so disarming that even Yuuri felt charmed all out of his usual anxiety. The way he made Yuuri laugh by listing a string of his own failures that soothed the sting Yuuri felt over his poor performance. The way he looked at him like he seemed to think Yuuri was special. The way he talked to him, like Yuuri was an equally established skater worthy of sharing the same ice. The way he listened, like Yuuri had something interesting to say. The way he laughed at Yuuri’s really poor jokes. The way he made all this so easy as if they had known each other for a long time.

The way he touched him. Just casually placed one hand in the small of Yuuri’s back when they moved from the drinks table to a less prominent spot. Brushed his fingers against the back of Yuuri’s hand when he handed him a glass of the water he insisted they switched to from champagne. Pushed one impertinent strand of hair out of Yuuri’s face.

It couldn’t have been more than one hour at most until Victor stilled Yuuri’s hand from reaching for two more glasses of champagne from the tray of a passing waitress and gave him a look that made Yuuri’s mouth go dry.

“Do you want to get out of there and talk somewhere more… private?” Victor asked.

Yuuri nodded. He had waited a long time for this.

He let Phichit know that he was leaving, trying to shrug off his best friend’s telltale smile and assured him that he would come straight to their room if anything made him feel uncomfortable. After having to show Phichit proof that he had his phone and his keycard, he finally headed for the door, where Victor was leaning against the doorframe, waiting for him.

Yuuri stumbled and bumped into Victor while Victor was trying to fish the keycard from an inside pocket of his suit jacket. Immediately Yuuri started giggling. He felt glad in his heart when he heard Victor chuckling too.

The door swung open and Victor pulled him inside, staying so close that Yuuri moved in for something resembling a hug, steadying himself with one hand on Victor’s upper arm for support.

“Are you drunk?” Victor asked and raised Yuuri’s face up towards him with one gentle hand under his chin.

“No.” Yuuri shook his head.

“Are you sure?” Victor smiled, that smile Yuuri had been dreaming about for so many years.

“Absolutely sure.” God, Yuuri hoped Victor would believe him. He hoped Victor hadn’t talked about him to other skaters and heard how he liked to stay in his hotel room at competitions and didn’t socialise much. He couldn’t explain why, but he really, really wanted to be here right now.

Victor’s hotel room was as exclusive as Yuuri had expected Victor Nikiforov’s hotel room to be, but Yuuri had no mind to pay attention to heavy curtains and antique furniture and gold decorations that looked more fit for a palace than a hotel. He slipped off his shoes in the entryway and followed Victor, watched him shrug off his suit jacket and loosen his tie as he walked around the room and dimmed the lights until there was only one ridiculously lavish small lamp just above the bed still on, dipping the whole room a ridiculously romantic light.

Yuuri remained standing by a heavy wooden dressing table, where he placed his suit jacket over the back of the leather chair and yanked off his tie. He imagined he was able to breathe more freely without it, though when Victor turned around to face him again, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

When their eyes met, the few steps between them became too wide. They moved slowly towards each other to breach the distance. Yuuri wondered what he had been so afraid of. Here and now, being with Victor seemed like the most normal thing in the world. Maybe it was the champagne. Or maybe it was the fact that they were alone. But he felt no inhibitions now when Victor was just one more step away. Yuuri took that step and met those hands reaching for him.

They kissed. And oh, Yuuri thought, Victor kissed so well.

“God, Yuuri, you…” Victor groaned. Yuuri could barely believe it. Victor Nikiforov groaned against his mouth and held on to his shoulders like a drowning man. “You kiss like a dream! Just as beautifully as you skate. When did you find the time learn to kiss like that?”

Never, Yuuri thought, you are my first kiss, and this is every bit what I’ve been dreaming of since I was twelveyears old and first saw you on a TV screen.

“I thought we were going to talk…” Victor gasped, holding Yuuri still by his wrists for a moment, gaze sinking into Yuuri’s eyes, blue eyes asking.

“Would you rather we stopped this and talked?” Yuuri smirked while he tore his hands free and went back to unbuttoning Victor’s shirt, and he could see something like excitement flare up in Victor’s eyes that made him feel cheeky and brave and more confident than he had ever felt in his entire life. He put all that into the smile he now gave Victor.

“Absolutely not.” Victor smiled back, and he looked happy as he cupped Yuuri’s face with both hands for another kiss. Yuuri couldn’t believe his luck. He didn’t want to think about this either. Or wonder why he wasn’t scared now like he had always believed he would be in this situation. Something felt so right about this.

Still kissing, they moved towards the bed, fumbling with shirt buttons and belt buckles.

Victor sat down when his knees hit the bed, and the way he looked up at Yuuri made Yuuri’s stomach heave with feels for a moment because he looked at him like at a dream come true. Strange, Yuuri thought, when it was the other way round. Victor moved on the bed like he moved on the ice, elegant and graceful as he crawled backwards up on the bed, shirt unbuttoned and an unmistakable bulge straining the front of his pants, flipping his fringe from his eyes as he looked at Yuuri from bedroom eyes, and all this made Yuuri wonder why on earth he had never thought up a scenario like his one when he’d touched himself looking at the posters of Victor adorning his walls.

Victor’s beauty would be forever ingrained on his mind and his heart, Yuuri knew, as he looked down at him, unsure where to start, now that he had Victor lying before him like presented to him on a silver plate. Yuuri took off his glasses and quickly put them on the bedside table, then he perched on the bed by Victor’s side for a moment. Eyes on Victor’s face, he climbed on the bed and brought one of his legs to the other side of Victor’s body so that his knees straddled Victor’s hips. Acute need made his throat feel tight. He frowned briefly when he felt a strange weight and a cold metallic touch to his chest, and he looked down at himself but there was nothing, only his flushed chest showing under his unbuttoned shirt, and he shook off the notion like an unwelcome thought. The moan Victor uttered when he moved his hips against him made Yuuri feel powerful. Feeling Victor’s hands come up under the sides of his shirt to caress his hips, his stomach, feeling Victor brush his nipples with his fingertips drew a low moan from Yuuri’s mouth.

Yuuri’s heart hammered the hardest he could ever remember it doing in his chest as he leaned over Victor to kiss him, his left arm resting on the pillow beside Victor’s face. And then everything happened so fast that Yuuri could never have retold what really happened. When he reached down, wanting to caress Victor’s face as he kissed him, Victor’s suddenly cried out and one of his hands shot up against the side of his throat. He pushed Yuuri off, rolled out of bed in one smooth, cat-like move and jumped to his feet.

“What the fuck!” Yuuri shouted as he struggled to stay on his feet and hold himself upright with years of practising not falling on the ice.

Across the bed, Victor was staring at him like he had seen a ghost. Victor’s frantic breathing was loud in the room.

“If you didn’t want me to do this you could have just told me to stop, you know!” Yuuri forced out the words with great effort. He felt confused, angry, and somehow, very much rejected.

“Yuuri!” Victor seemed overwhelmed. Suddenly Yuuri wondered whether Victor had been drunk and only now realised who he had ended up back in his room with. How could he have missed that though?

“You’re… _Yuuri_.” Victor was still staring at him like he had only just woken up.

“Yes. Yes, I am. Katsuki Yuuri, and you are Victor Nikiforov, and you…” Yuuri frowned briefly, trying to remember how Phichit always called this kind of thing. “You… hooked up with me at the post Grand Prix final banquet.”

On the other side of the bed, Victor’s mouth turned into a pain-laced smile. “Yes,” he said faintly. “And you… wanted to hook up with me?”

Yuuri couldn’t resist a little snort. “I have waited forever for this moment!”

“You _have_?” Something akin to longing flashed across Victor’s face. “Oh Yuuri, for a moment I wasn’t sure…”

“I mean _years_!” Yuuri corrected himself. Forever sounded way too pathetic. “More than ten years. Ever since I first saw you on TV when I was 12 years old. You had just won gold in the Junior World Championship.”

“I see.” A light seemed to go out in Victor’s eyes at this moment, but Yuuri paid it no mind because the next moment his smile was back in place.

“You were so beautiful…” Yuuri swallowed hard.

They were staring at each other across the bed in the dimmed light.

“You’ve been a fan of mine then for that long, Yuuri?” Victor touched on his neck again, then looked at his hand when it came away, and lowered it to his side in confusion. Watching him, Yuuri felt just as confused.

“From the first moment I saw you.” Yuuri took a cautious step towards the lower end of the bed. Across from him, Victor mirrored the action. Something hummed between them, not audible to the human ear but very much to them, connecting and pulling them like invisible thread.

“Funny you should say that, Yuuri…” Victor paused at the foot of the bed. “… it’s been the same for me with you.”

Yuuri frowned as he stepped closer, trying hard not to let his disappointment show when Victor took a step back with every step Yuuri came nearer. “What do you mean?” Yuuri asked and licked his lips.

“I’ve wanted to meet you from the very first moment I saw you.” Victor held his gaze firmly with his eyes.

“I don’t believe you. I’m just a dime-a-dozen skater, as I proudly showed off tonight. I shouldn’t be here.”

Victor shook his head, a little sadly. “You’re so much more than that, Yuuri…” he murmured.

Yuuri took another step.

Victor’s back hit the wall.

The world paused for a moment. Something wavered between them, Yuuri thought, something he couldn’t grasp or name. All he knew was that he was drawn towards Victor like a magnet, and that he wanted to tap into the emotions that hung heavy over this room. He wanted to do all the things he had been cooking up in his mind, staring longingly at posters plastered all over his walls, wishing with all his might the man from the posters would be with him in person. He was now, and he was looking at Yuuri like he had been waiting just for him. And even though Yuuri couldn’t fathom for the life of him why, he decided here and now that he would be damned if he didn’t grasp this once in a lifetime opportunity.

Victor was the one with the wall in his back but he pulled Yuuri close by the sides of his shirt until their faces were mere inches apart and he sighed against Yuuri’s mouth and whispered, “Kiss me, Yuuri.”

And Yuuri did. He kissed him until the taste and feel of him was ingrained in his very being and he decided he never wanted to kiss anyone else again, ever. He kissed him until he couldn’t breathe and broke free, panting like he had just finished an exhausting short programme, and perhaps that was what he had because this was, after all, Victor Nikiforov, and he wanted him, wanted him so much.

It was pretty obvious, too, because he pressed himself against Victor as they kissed more frantically, grinding into each other so eagerly there was no way in the world they could miss how hard they both were.

“So, Yuuri. Are you going to do this or not?” Victor asked, his eyes flashing with challenge.

It spoke to Yuuri’s competitiveness like few things ever had, not unlike anything Victor had ever done on the ice and which had driven Yuuri to become a better and better skater.

“Oh, I’m going to do this alright!” Yuuri muttered, ‘this’ meaning Victor, and they both knew it.

Yuuri didn’t care how or when they undressed. He didn’t ask where the lube and the condoms came from and why Victor came prepared like this to a competition. He didn’t want to know what skater the grand Victor Nikiforov had had his eyes on before he crossed Yuuri’s path. Tonight, he was Yuuri’s. He stopped thinking, fretting, wondering about anything. He forgot where they were and how he had always fantasised this particular moment in his life to be - how different he had always imagined this particular moment in his life to be. There was an edge to the way Victor looked at him, _needed_ him, which was the complete opposite of the Victor he had put on a pedestal for so long. There was something provocative about the way Victor opened up to him and urged him on, and it did things to Yuuri, made him want to do well, better, the best he could, and then some.

It was fast, and messy, and Yuuri felt high, or drunk, completely intoxicated by the sight of Victor Nikiforov wrapped around his middle and expressing with every sound and every motion how much he loved feeling Yuuri inside of him.

Even afterwards Victor still held on to him, acting as overwhelmed as Yuuri was feeling. His hands were there to catch Yuuri, caressing his face and murmuring quietly, and Yuuri allowed himself to lean on him, lower his face into the curve of his neck and not get carried away by what had just happened. What Victor had let him do.

“Victor…” Yuuri murmured against his throat. He had never seen the scar from up close and he placed a kiss on it now, spontaneous and tender, and still felt shocked by the trembling that went through Victor’s body.

He knew he must look a mess, his face a weird crab-red and his lips swollen and glistening with saliva, his hair all over the place, but he leaned back to be able to look at Victor, trying to remember how exactly they had ended up here against this wall in Victor’s hotel room, panting and naked, and a weird kind of sated that left them craving for more.

“Yuuri.” Victor’s voice was low, and emotional. Yuuri had heard what felt like a million interviews with him but he had never heard this, this emotional, aroused Victor voice, and he wanted that all for himself.

“Do you have to go?”

Yuuri looked up at Victor’s question. Victor’s head was tilted lightly, his expression unreadable.

“Do you _want_ me to go?” He asked back, his stomach in knots while he waited for Victor’s answer.

Victor shook his head immediately, and for a moment Yuuri wondered if it was need he saw in his eyes.

“I don’t want to go,” Yuuri said quietly. “Can I stay?”

Both of Victor’s hands were caressing Yuuri’s face. “As long as you want.”

It was better than every single one of Yuuri’s cliché dreams. Victor was attentive, and gentle, and careful, and Yuuri felt more cherished than his pining teenaged self could ever have imagined. He felt treasured. Loved, even. He knew it wasn’t what this was all about, but for the moment, he decided to take what he could get. So he gladly took every kiss, and every caress, took every touch of Victor’s hands and lips on his body, stole every sound of pleasure from Victor’s mouth and rewarded every smile and soft laughter with his own happiness. He didn’t believe half of what Victor murmured to him in the heat of the moment, but he gripped Victor’s hands tighter and met his thrusts with more eager rocking of his own hips into Victor’s every move.

Afterwards, he took the warm, fuzzy feeling of lying still and overwhelmed and sated in Victor’s arms.

“Eros.” Victor’s voice was tender. His fingertips did something like a free skate on Yuuri’s bare arm.

“Hm?” Yuuri turned his head so he could see Victor’s face.

Victor smiled at him. “Who would have thought that such ‘eros’ was hiding inside you, Yuuri Katsuki?”

Yuuri wanted to ask what he meant, but he was so tired. He tried to hide a yawn but Victor noticed, and smiled again. Without taking his eyes off of Yuuri’s face, he reached back for the switch beside the bed and turned off the lights.

“You gave something very precious to me tonight, Yuuri. Thank you.” He voice was a caress.

Yuuri flushed crimson all over and wondered why he didn’t glow in the dark as he tried not to think about what made Victor say that. He hadn’t had Victor Nikiforov down for that kind of silly male pride banter but then he _was_ a little dramatic and a lot extra. Yuuri pushed the thought very far to the back of his mind. Not that he’d ever thought he’d want anyone else but Victor to be his first, but Victor really didn’t have to point out quite so bluntly that he took pride in it.

Yuuri fell asleep with his head against Victor’s chest, to the sound of Victor’s heart pounding.

Yuuri woke up with a minor headache and a major panic attack. One moment he was watching the perfect picture of Victor sleeping beside him, platinum hair tousled all over his face and the pillow, looking so young, relaxed in his sleep. He was loving the feeling of Victor’s arm lying almost possessively over his waist. The next moment the weight of Victor’s arm became unbearably heavy. He held his breath when he lifted Victor’s arm from his middle very gently and rolled himself out of bed, scared it would wake Victor, relieved when it didn’t.

Yuuri moved around the room as quietly as he could, retrieving his clothes and getting dressed. His heart alone was beating so loud that he felt the pounding of the blood in his ears. His insides were heaving with anxiety that made him feel sick and hope he would make it back to his room before it hit.

He was reaching for his glasses on the bedside table when he heard Victor’s sleepy voice.

“Do you have to go?”

Yuuri moved in slow motion as he put his glasses on and perched on the side of the bed. He felt caught out, and scared, and he knew Victor could see all this in his eyes, his face.

“Were you at least going to leave me your number?”

It sounded light, but the question lay heavy in Yuuri’s stomach. Victor smiled, but it was his press conference smile, his journalist smile, the one for the cameras. The fake one.

“I… Victor. I’m sorry. I have to go. Phichit must be worried, and Celestino will be coming to get us soon, our… plane back to Detroit is leaving quite early.”

Yuuri knew he was rambling, and it sounded like lame excuses even to himself. Oh god, Yuuri thought. This was like the movies. And he was the prick who left in the morning. Except that he didn’t run from what he thought had been a mistake. He ran from something that he knew could be so good that it overwhelmed him. He had never ever seen himself ending up in that part. It was almost laughable, if it hadn’t felt so sad.

“Yuuri. Can I see you again?” Victor raised himself up on one elbow.

Yuuri managed a smile. “Sure. We’ll see each other at Worlds. _If_ I make it.”

He meant for it to sound like a joke, but suddenly the humiliation of his messed up skate the day before was back with a vengeance. He stared at Victor, suddenly terrified. He had no right to be here, Yuuri told himself, dread rising inside him and threatening to pull him under. He was a terrible skater, not good enough for Victor as a competitor, and especially not _off_ the ice as something else.

“I’m sorry.” Yuuri rose from the bed. “I have to go.”

His back was turned on Victor before this became any harder. He grabbed his suit jacket and his tie from the chair by the dressing table on his way to the door. But he swung around again before he went out of Victor’s sight. Victor was still propped up on one arm, looking dazed. Something like hope flickered in his eyes when Yuuri turned to look at him. Yuuri wondered why suddenly his heart felt like it was breaking in his chest when his body was so eager to run.

“Victor…” He had to clear his throat because suddenly his throat felt so tight. “Thank you. For everything.”

Yuuri didn’t wait for an answer. He just opened the door and slipped quietly from Victor’s room.

~ ~ ~

“You fucked him against the wall??????” Phichit asked incredulously.

“YOU FUCKED VICTOR FUCKING NIKIFOROV AGAINST THE WALL????!!!!!! Oh my God, Yuuri! You are now officially the hero amongst all us young skaters!!!”

Yuuri had found Phichit awake and dressed, sitting on his bed scrolling through his phone. Throwing his suit jacket and tie on his own bed, Yuuri had tiredly walked over to Phichit’s bed, knowing he would get no sleep until he told Phichit everything. As a matter of fact it was much more likely that he wouldn’t get any sleep until they were on the plane because he knew Phichit, and he knew that his chances for at least a small nap before departure were higher if he gave Phichit what he wanted to know right away.

Phichit looked him up and down, eyes narrowed like he was hoping to look right to the bottom of Yuuri’s heart and soul. Yuuri felt on edge. Phichit’s enthusiastic yelling had done exactly nothing to make Yuuri feel even a little bit less run over by a train. His nerves were tethering on overtime, each one taut like a bow.

“Okay, Yuuri,” Phichit said carefully, “I know this is super private and you hate talking about these kind of things, but… wasn’t this your first time?”

And his nerves snapped.

“My first _time_?” Yuuri exclaimed hysterically. “How about my first _kiss_ on top of that??!!”

“Oh my GOD!” Phichit clamped both hands over his mouth, but a little squeak still managed to escape.

“Oh my god, Yuuri.” Phichit’s voice was not unlike the sounds his hamsters made when they got excited. “Oh my _god_! You are… so…”

Yuuri looked at him, defeated. Victor, his crush and idol and the greatest figure skater, as well as the most beautiful and amazing person he could think of, had not only spent the night with him but also showed clear interest in seeing him again, and he had brushed him off. Whatever names Phichit was about to call him, he probably deserved them. He was stupid, over-anxious, childish, cowardly…

“…fucking awesome!” Phichit squealed. “You are absolutely amazing, I wish I had your guts!”

Yuuri stared at him, shell-shocked. He sank down at the foot of Phichit’s bed, the night’s exhaustion and emotional turmoil suddenly catching up with him.

“So… did that wall sex happen this morning?” Phichit asked eventually, when it dawned on him that Yuuri wasn’t going to kiss and tell.

“What? No! That was last night after…” Yuuri closed his mouth. His expression became guarded, and he frowned briefly. “After we left the banquet.”

“Right.” He knew. Phichit knew there was something Yuuri wasn’t telling him, but he could gather from his expression alone that there was no point in prodding. Yuuri would tell him when he chose to. Or not.

“I was just wondering.” Phichit said, absentmindedly playing around on his phone, not looking at Yuuri on purpose. “You were gone all night. Seems a long time to be gone for wall sex.”

“Ha.” A hollow chuckle came from Yuuri’s mouth. He slid further back on the bed and swung around so that he was facing Phichit, sitting cross-legged and hugging himself with both arms.

“We… slept together again.” Even Yuuri’s voice seemed to blush. He didn’t give any details but somehow Phichit knew that his second time had been different from the wall sex, and he didn’t want to bluntly imply that his best friend had been dicked for the first time by none other than his lifelong crush and idol. But Phichit’s heart went out to him while at the same time he wanted to shout from the rooftops how proud and happy he was for his best friend.

He compromised by asking, “Was it good?”

“Not that I have anything to compare it with, but… it was pretty perfect.” Yuuri smiled weakly.

Phichit smiled not so weakly, in fact, he smiled so widely that Yuuri thought it must hurt.

“Because he took such good care of you or because he’s Victor?” Phichit wanted to know.

“Both?” Yuuri whispered the word, like he was afraid to destroy something sacred.

“Oh my god, Yuuri, I am so happy for you, you have no idea!” Phichit grinned and repressed a little squeal. “And then what happened?”

“We fell asleep.”

“Did you cuddle?”

Yuuri nodded, smiling a little sheepishly.

“Oh my _god_!” And _that_ squeal would not be repressed.

“And then this morning I woke up and got dressed, and…” Yuuri gulped. “He asked to exchange numbers.”

“Yes!” Phichit was on his knees on the bed and punching the air with one fist.

“We didn’t.”

“Wait. What!” Phichit lowered his arm and sank down on his heels, staring at him.

“I ran, Phichit. I was so overwhelmed! Everything was catching up with me, years of idolising him, my absolutely humiliating free skate yesterday, then the whole night, and I couldn’t… I _couldn’t_ , Phichit, it was too much! He asked if he could see me again and I very nearly snapped at him why he would want to do such a thing. And before you ask!”

Phichit obediently closed his mouth he had opened to barge in with a burning question.

“No, he did not mention anything about soulmates and having been dying to see me since we danced together at a river’s edge in Ireland centuries ago or something. No big revelation or recognition happened. Wouldn’t I have _felt_ something? Wouldn’t _he_? If he really was my soulmate he would have _known_ I was being anxious and running when all I wanted was to stay in that bed with him. He would have known me, Phichit, better than I know myself. But he didn’t say anything to hold me back and he let me go, and I got dressed and left, and that was that. He was just being polite when he asked for my number. So. We come away with two things. Katsuki Yuuri is no longer a virgin, and Victor Nikiforov is not my soulmate.”

Silence lingered between them after Yuuri’s passionate speech. Yuuri was wrapping his arms tighter around himself like he was trying to hug every moment he had spent with Victor close to his heart.

Phichit gave him time. He knew Yuuri was stubborn, and sometimes his anxiety twisted truths so much he couldn’t see them for what they were. Phichit had to admit he felt disappointed too. He had been rooting for this so much. In his head he had decided at some point over the past couple of years that there was only one reason for Yuuri to be so drawn to Victor and that was that they were soulmates and they would only need to meet to recognise each other. Clearly, he had been wrong. Unless… His forehead furrowed as he tried to remember reading anywhere whether soulmates always recognised each other _at the same time._

“Okay.” Phichit took a deep breath. Exhaled with his cheeks puffed up like he was at the end of his wits. “I’m just going to throw this question out there because it doesn’t make any more or less sense than any of the other theories we’ve come up with.”

“What question?” Their eyes met across the bed.

“Yuuri. What if it _is_ Victor, and what if _he knows_?”


	2. Chapter 2

~ Victor ~

_Suddenly I knew that you’d have to go_

_Your world was not mine, your eyes told me so_

_Yet it was there I felt the crossroads of time_

I

The mark on his neck had been there as long as Victor could remember.

Nobody ever questioned it, except for one very attentive paediatrician who gave his parents extremely strange, distrustful looks when they brought Victor in for his general health exam and vaccinations.

“That’s a funny scar you have there,” the doctor said, prodding the pale, lightly raised line on the side of Victor’s neck. It looked faded, but still a shade darker than Victor’s already pale skin. “Did it hurt when you got cut?”

Victor heard his mama draw a sharp breath. Saw his papa frown at the doctor.

Victor shook his head. “I didn’t get cut. It was just always there.” He smiled proudly.

Afterwards, his parents gave him extra cuddles and his favourite ice-cream, because he had been so good for the doctor and not cried when he got his injections. But all the way home his papa was angrily muttering to his mama how he was going to give that nasty doctor a piece of his mind next time he implied they could possibly have hurt their Vitya, and how dare he even suggest it. His mama didn’t contradict, which struck Victor as odd, because she usually had something to reply when his papa got so grumpy. But then his _plombir_ started to melt and he forgot all about doctors and parents as he quickly licked up the vanilla ice-cream threatening to run over the edge where he had already taken a bite out of the wafer cup.

II

It was his mama who told him about soulmates. His mama was very interested in esoteric things. She claimed a long time ago some of their ancestors had left Russia to live in England and started spiritual circles there, which were a big hit among the London aristocracy. She told him that every person’s soul was connected to someone else’s since the beginning of time, and that once two souls joined, they would always recognise each other again. His mama firmly believed that every person, consciously or not, was looking for their soulmate and would never feel completely whole until they found them. His mama also told him that the scar on his neck was probably a reminder of a previous life he had lived. Victor wasn’t sure he really believed it, but he loved listening to her stories.

A famous skating coach came scouting new talent and found Victor.

Victor, who lived and breathed skating. Victor, who seemed to be born for the ice.

The closer he got to skating, the further away he moved from his parents. He missed them dreadfully, but he loved skating more. They didn’t have boarding schools for children who would become the nation’s new athletic elite where Victor lived, so he left home very young. Instead of saying goodbye, his mama told him to always keep his eyes and heart open because quite possibly he had a soulmate somewhere out there in the world. She told him to never be afraid when the dreams came.

III

The dreams began in his early teens. At first Victor tried to tell Yakov and Lilia about them, but Lilia harshly declared them as nonsense, and Yakov looked quite frozen and exclaimed he knew exactly what pubescent boys dreamed about and he didn’t want to hear. And Victor was very fond of his very grumpy coach, but he very much disliked his wife.

So Victor never told anyone about his dreams, but he embraced them tight just like his mama had advised him to do when she told him never to be afraid of them. They comforted him on those cold, harsh Russian winter nights in the academy, when he would hug them to his chest like he knew the other children were hugging their stuffed toys and letters from home when they felt homesick. It comforted and encouraged him to believe that somewhere out there was someone who was meant for him. Someone who had known and loved him a long time ago and would find and recognise him again.

By the time he was winning junior competitions, he knew he had had a great love and lived in a castle. He wasn’t sure where, his dreams never revealed that. But he knew that he and his soulmate had loved each other very much. He knew his soulmate had kind, brown eyes. And he knew his name.

Yuri.

The dreams helped Victor to remain distant from the people who tried to come on to him because they found him pretty. Let them think him strange, Victor always told himself when he brushed another one off. He didn’t want to be loved for his looks. He wanted to be loved for his soul, by a person who recognised him.

There were a lot of Yuris in Russia. But never his.

He had some boyfriends and lovers over the years. Not a lot. Sometimes for one night, sometimes for a little longer. But ultimately it never felt right. If he didn’t end it, they would leave. Something about him always made people leave. He never had time for them, most said. He was too soft, some said. Too flamboyant. Too extra. Too selfish. He was cold, others said. Too focussed on his skating, more than one accused him. He wasn’t willing to put love over skating, they said. Victor didn’t see why he should have to, why he shouldn’t have both in equal measure. He wanted to create art on ice. That didn’t mean he couldn’t have love at the same time.

By the time Victor Nikiforov was a name to be reckoned with, he was the one who did the leaving.

He got a poodle puppy and loved her fiercely, knowing they would never leave each other. Knowing, also, that his soulmate loved dogs. He had seem them walking green fields with poodles racing ahead.

When he was sad, or lonely, or injured, or whenever he failed on the ice, Victor would dream at night about his soulmate giving him comfort. He never saw his Yuri’s face, but he knew exactly what his kisses tasted of and what the touch of his hands felt like. He knew his body like the back of his hand. He dreamed about the way he moved. He dreamed of love letters, so clumsy that they made Victor chuckle and his heart open wide. He dreamed about small gifts, meaningless to anyone but them. He dreamed about libraries and accumulated books and then more books in every waking moment because they made him happy. He dreamed about a love he had had in the past, and sometimes he found his pillow wet from tears when he woke up alone and felt his incomplete soul like physical pain.

Victor never told anyone about his dreams, except for his mama. Until he met Chris.

IV

There was something about Chris that set him apart from other skaters who looked up to Victor. A feeling of deep recognition. The first time Chris called his name from the stands when he came off the ice after winning the European Championships, Victor felt like he had heard that very voice call out to him before. Yet when he looked up he knew he had never seen that person.

Not in _this_ life.

They started running into each other at skating competitions, Chris joining seniors two years after Victor, and becoming one of his most serious competitors. Soon Victor couldn’t imagine being on the podium anymore without Chris by his side. In their late teens and early twenties they made it a habit to escape their coaches in the evenings and either hit a local bar or end up in one of their respective rooms, sneaking in fast food they were not allowed because of their diets, or a bottle of wine they were not allowed, period. 

It was after one such competition, when they left the hotel in the morning, lingering behind in the foyer and trying to ignore the impatient glares from Yakov and Josef by the exit, that Victor felt brave enough to pull Chris aside after they had shared their by now common big hug whenever they met and parted.

“Chris, why do you think did I pick you as my best friend almost from the moment we met?”

His heart was pounding all the way up his chest and throat, making breathing feel difficult.

Chris grinned. He had recently started growing his hair and a bit of a well-trimmed stubble, and he was mighty proud of his hipster look. “Because I’m an amazing person, of course. Handsome, charming, witty… what else could it be?”

Victor laughed. “There is that, yes. But how about this - you were my best friend in another life?”

Chris burst out laughing. “Good one, Victor!” He slapped Victor’s shoulder, the laughter rumbling through his body.

Then he saw Victor’s face.

„Shit, you’re _serious_?!” Green eyes widened with disbelief.

Victor could see it in Chris’ expression, questions, astonishment, and then, of course. Doubt. Victor wanted to kick himself. He had been so sure Chris would understand. Chris was different from all of his other friends, few as they were. He had been wrong.

“Vitya!”

Never before had he been so glad to hear Yakov’s thundering, impatient voice.

“See you at Worlds,” he said briefly and gave Chris a friendly pat on the arm before he followed Yakov through the foyer and out to their waiting taxi. He didn’t look back at Chris once.

~ ~ ~ 

The next time they met, Victor was guarded. He greeted Chris politely but avoided a hug. When he was done with accreditation, he left Yakov to chat with some other coaches and already left to go back to his room.

Chris was leaning against the wall outside the conference room the hotel had set up for accreditation. He pushed himself off when he saw Victor, ready to stand in his way should Victor dare to brush him off again.

“Chris.” Victor paused and smiled, his professional smile he reserved for press and photographers, and the team of fellow skaters and coaches who passed them in the hotel corridor just now, heading into the room.

When they were alone again, Chris raised one eyebrow.

“This fake smile is the one you have for your best friend of centuries?” he wanted to know.

For a moment, Victor froze.

“What makes you think it’s centuries?” he finally asked Chris, his head slightly tilted.

“Isn’t it always centuries? Those kind of things?” Chris asked back.

For a moment they stood there, until the next group left the accreditation room and they moved out of the way and closer together. Victor sighed, but he could already feel a new smile work its way onto his face, an honest one, relief seeping through him.

“See you later?” Chris asked. He looked pointedly over Victor’s shoulder, and sure enough Yakov appeared by their side a moment later, asking gruffly why Victor wasn’t up in his room yet.

Victor rolled his eyes at Chris, but he winked as Yakov led him away, knowing that they would talk.

Later that evening Victor opened the door of his hotel room to Chris, who slipped in just in time before two doors down Yakov poked his head out his door, ready to bark at them that they both needed their sleep before their short programmes the next day.

Chris sat astride the one chair in the room while they shared some Swiss chocolate he had brought as a reconciliation present, knowing it was Victor’s favourite. They weren’t allowed sweets, of course, butcelebrations of sorts were in order.

Victor was sitting on the edge of his bed, hands folded in his lap. He took a deep breath as he met Chris’ expectant gaze, steeling himself for sharing his greatest secret.

“Chris... I’m going to tell you quite an unbelievable story now.”

~ ~ ~

By his mid-twenties, Victor was untouchable. The greatest skater of his generation. A living legend.

He was renown for this stunning programmes, choreographed by himself, with music composed especially for him. Those who worked with him knew he always pushed himself that extra mile, far, far beyond his limits.He spent more time honing his craft than anyone else. His discipline was unparalleled, the way he could switch off the world completely when he stepped onto the ice and became almost ethereal. Superhuman. Someone from another world.

He was also renown for being a very nice person, always kind and respectful towards fellow skaters.

Few people knew that behind the perfect smile and the flirty mannerism, the iron discipline and the gritty determination, behind all the hard work and the ingenious skating abilities, there was a silly, funny man with more awkward quirks and expensive hair and skin products than one could count. He had more books than friends and chose the company over his dog over that of his few good friends.

Few people knew that Victor Nikiforov, who was adored and crushed on by thousands of people all over the world, was secretly a terrible romantic who firmly believed he had a soulmate somewhere out there and dreamed of finding him. He spoke to his mother about this a lot, loving her understanding and input, needing her comfort when he felt the pain acutely sometimes over still not having found his soulmate.

His hopes flared up when Yakov took on a new skater to coach and his name was Yuri. But this Yuri was just a small boy, and Victor was glad when he met him and saw his defiant green eyes. Not brown and kind like that of his soulmate, though he guessed he would have waited for him to grow up if he had turned out to be the one.

Meanwhile Chris had quietly accepted the fact that he must have had a past life that he didn’t remember. He had started doing some reading of his own since the time they were not speaking, so he was not quite so unfamiliar with the subject anymore and as supportive as he could.

One evening after they’d shared the podium again at another World Championship and only had their exhibitions to go through the next day, Chris smuggled chocolate and pretzels along with some red wine into Victor’s room. Victor had still done interviews and press work long after all the other skaters had already gone back to the hotel. It was one of the things that came with being Victor Nikiforov.

While Victor was in the shower, Chris lounged around on Victor’s bed and grabbed the book that was lying upside down. “‘The Book of Celtic Wisdom’...” he snorted quietly and shook his head. That Victor!

Bored, he skimmed through the table of contents until he found a chapter about friendship. He started reading while the shower was running in the bathroom. Still bored, Chris put the book down to reach for the remote control and switched on the TV, channel hopping while nothing really struck his interest. Muting the TV, he took out his phone and scrolled through his social media channels. The shower had stopped running when he held out one arm and posed for a selfie on Victor’s bed, making sure nothing was seen that would identify the room as Victor’s because that kind of prank had gotten him in trouble before.

“You were always interested in photography.”

Victor’s voice came from the now open bathroom door, where he stood wearing one of the hotel bathrobes and was rubbing his hair dry with a towel.

Chris lowered his arm, selfie forgotten.

“Was I now?” he asked, accompanied by a low chuckle.

Victor nodded and headed for the wardrobe. He always unpacked his suitcase in hotels, tried to make himself at home as much as he could. Grabbing some fresh clothes now he gave Chris a nod to indicate he would be right back. Minutes later he remerged from the bathroom, dressed this time in some comfortable workout pants and a long sleeved shirt.

“It was very new at the time, but you loved everything modern.” Victor grinned when he sat down on the bed beside Chris, leaning back against the head rest and reaching for the chocolate.

“Found something interesting in my book?” He motioned his chin at the book that was lying upside down on the bed once more. The chocolate wrapper rustled softly as he opened it very carefully and broke off a piece.

Grinning, Chris picked up the book and skimmed his eyes over the page until he found what he was looking for. “This I liked: ‘A friend is a loved one who awakens your life in order to free the wild possibilities within you.’” He looked up from the book and winked at Victor.

Victor snorted. “In your wildest dreams. Give me that.”

He took the book from Chris’ hand, skipped a couple of pages and read out loud, “‘A friend is someone who wishes what is good for the other.’” He closed the book and placed it gently by his side.

“You know I do,” Chris said quietly, and a smile passed between them. “And right now I think a glass of red wine will be really good for you.”

“Perfect.” Victor reached for the two crystal drinking glasses that had been in the room and that he had already put within reach on the bedside table, and handed them to Chris to pour wine.

The bottle was half empty and they were laughing hysterically about some French comedy they had found on TV when Chris asked the question. He was lying with his head down by the lower end of the bed, propped up on one elbow while he held his glass in the other, as he looked at Victor with amusement.

“Come on, tell me! Who was I in your other life, Victor? Was I your extremely handsome and extremely jealous ex lover you still met for secret trysts of passion?”

Victor nearly choked on a mouthful of wine, laughing. “No!”

“Victor! You wound me!” Chris let himself fall back on the bed, clutching his heart with one hand. When he propped himself back up, head resting on his elbow, his eyes were sparkling with curiosity.

“Was I a servant?”

“No. Worse.”

“Worse than a servant?” Chris pursed his lips in thought. “A rent boy??”

“No, Chris! Even worse!” Victor was laughing harder with every reply he gave.

“Fuck, Victor, I wasn’t a murderer or something, was I?”

“No. Much worse!”

Chris gaped. “What could possibly be worse than a murderer?”

“Chris…” Victor tried to reign in his laughter, but it kept bubbling up in short hiccup-like bouts. “You have to be very strong now. You… were _straight_.”

Chris’ jaw possibly hit the bed. He downed the contents of his glass in one go and reached for the bottle again to pour himself some more. Victor leaned over to take the bottle from his hand, reminding him they both still had to make it through their exhibition skates the next day.

“I don’t believe this.” Chris lay flat on his back like slain, staring at the ceiling, the glass of wine sitting on his chest.

“Your wedding night lasted three days.” Victor grinned and dug his teeth in his bottom lip, eyes flashing.

“Okay, well, at least that sounds plausible.”

“You wrote her poems.” Victor chuckled. “They were quite dirty. You compared her tits to the Swiss Alps.”

Chris laughed out loud as he sat up, drinking a sip of wine like he needed to toast what he had just learned.

“She was naughty, too. Went down on you in the opera one night before you were married.”

“Before we were married! That’s fantastic!” Chris toasted again with his glass. “No wonder I loved her!”

Victor laughed quietly. “On your wedding night you got into bed determined to mount the Swiss Alps but she flipped you over and rode you until sunrise.”

Chris heaved a sigh. “Fuck, if I ever was into a woman I would want it to be this one.”

“You had children,” Victor said, suddenly sounding very gentle.

“I did?” Chris’ expression softened.

Some of their more serious conversations came back to that sometimes. Despite their youth, they both had that aspect somewhere at the back of their minds, wondering if and how that might ever happen for them. At least Chris was able to be out and proud, not having to hide his sexuality. Unlike Victor, who played his role as most eligible bachelor very well, knowing how much he owed to the skating federation and the higher ups, to Yakov. Knowing that he was able to live his dream thanks to sticking to certain rules. One didn’t become one of Russia’s greatest athletes without sticking to certain rules. Even if it meant putting on a mask and lying low about his sexual preferences.

Victor nodded. “Six.”

“Six!!! Fucking hell!” Chris’ eyes went huge.

Victor laughed. “Six perfect, pudgy angels with blond curls and blue or green eyes. And you were quite the modern father. Crawled around on the nursery floor and openly showed your love like it was absolutely uncommon for men of the times. Your oldest one especially, he was the sweetest, chubby baby.”

“What was his—”

“Alexander,” Victor cut off his question. “I called him Sascha.”

“Victor.” Chris sounded emotional.

“Chris?”

Chris lifted his empty glass. “I need a stronger drink than this!”

~ ~ ~

Chris was watching porn when Victor knocked on his door in their hotel a year later. He was picking him up for dinner, since they always made it a tradition of treating European Championships as some kind of anniversary of their first meeting and the start of their friendship.

Walking into the room Victor took one look at the TV screen - where a curvy blonde was currently getting banged in a canopy bed by a very hairy guy - and shook his head.

“Chris! Just because I told you you had a wife with blond hair and huge tits who was dynamite in bed, you won’t find her in a porn star!”

Chris reached for the remote control and switched off the TV.

“I would just like to see her, just once.” He heaved a sigh. “I’m curious.”

“It’s not like I can take pictures,” Victor said, as gentle as an apology. He took the coat that was already draped over the back of a chair by one of those standard hotel room desks and tossed it at Chris.

“Let’s go, we have a reservation.”

Later that evening they had a nightcap and ended up sitting side by side on Chris’ bed watching an Asian skating competition on a sports channel they had found among the 200 odd stations on the hotel TV.

They were lazy after their dinner, despite sticking almost completely to their diets, each nursing a small bottle of tonic water from the mini bar as they watched the competition and commented on the skaters’ abilities. It was when Chris was in the bathroom that a Japanese skater came on and Victor felt instantly awake.

When Chris returned he found Victor kneeling at the foot of the bed, closer to the TV, staring at the screen with eyes the size of saucers. He was half surprised that his friend’s mouth wasn’t open with drool running from it.

“What’s wrong with you?” Chris asked. He took a glance at the TV screen and started grinning.

Victor shook his head. He seemed agitated. “I don’t know… this guy. He gives me feelings.”

“Yeah, he gives _me_ feelings too.” Chris hummed as he slumped down on the bed again. “It’s impossible not to get feelings about this arse.”

Victor threw him an enervated look. “For god’s sake, Chris, do you always have to be so vulgar?”

“You keep telling me I had sex with a woman, who’s the vulgar one here?”

Victor rolled his eyes and returned his attention to the TV screen. He felt electrified, too many emotions surging through him all at once. One of his favourite quotes from the book he carried everywhere with him pounded through his whole being like his heartbeat.

_When you find the person you love, an act of ancient recognition brings you together._

The skater on the screen went through a step sequence so beautiful Victor wanted to weep.

“Feelings, huh?”

Victor’s head swung round at Chris’ comment, irritated at the smugness in his friend’s tone.

Chris sobered up the moment he saw Victor’s glare. “Oh, you mean… like soulmate-y kind of feelings?”

Victor nodded, suddenly all nerves. “The way he moves… seems so familiar.”

On screen, the skater was now stepping off the ice, waving shyly at the audience before he put his skate guards on and made his way to the kiss and cry, where Celestino Cialdini wrapped an arm around him like proud father and clearly praised him for what had truly been a fantastic programme. Victor thought so too. The step sequences had even made him feel stunned for a moment.

“He’s shy,” Chris remarked.

“You _know_ him?” Victor knelt back on his heels, staring at his friend.

Chris nodded. “Ran into him at a few competitions, he came into juniors when you’d already moved up to seniors. He’s as determined as I’ve seen few other skaters, yourself included. But he gets very nervous before competitions, and as I said, he’s not very social. Not because he’s mean, he’s just really shy.”

Victor’s eyes returned to the TV screen, where the scores were currently shown. They were high, well deserved. The camera zoomed in on the skater’s face and Victor felt his chest contract when he saw those eyes.

“Those eyes,” he muttered, only turning to Chris when the screen was filled with the next skater getting in position in the middle of the ice. “I feel like I’ve seen them so many times… I feel like…” He shook his head. His chest was filled with so much hope, but dread and fear of disappointment were slithering around between it like two snakes just waiting to bite.

Chris cocked his head, looking at him thoughtfully. “You think he could be the one?”

Victor didn’t dare hope. So he shrugged, and played for indifference. “But his name is different, Katsu something or other?”

“Victor, for someone who’s as well-read and well-travelled as you, you can be really dense sometimes. Remember Japanese names read the other way round from ours, last name first, first name second. Katsuki is his family name.”

Chris became very serious. “His name is Yuuri.”

V

Victor loved Yuuri Katsuki from the moment their eyes met the first time.

On the way to Sochi, Victor could barely sit still. For the first time in years he felt excited about travelling to a competition again. Only that this time his flurry of nerves had nothing to do with the contest. He had felt giddy from the moment he knew Yuuri had qualified for the Grand Prix Final. He had read and watched everything about him he was able to get his hands on. There wasn’t a lot, and the man had no social media presence. Victor learned the most about Yuuri from his skating. It was exceptional. He couldn’t wait to tell him. He couldn’t wait to meet him in person and tell him so many things.

Victor kept his distance in the locker room. Like Chris had told him, Yuuri barely got out of his own head before the competition. Sure enough, he barely spoke to anyone and came off a little cold, although he greeted everyone very politely. Chris went over to say Hello. When he came back, he quietly murmured to Victor that he felt that Yuuri’s nerves were close to getting the better of him. It made Victor feel a little sad. For Yuuri skated a beautiful short programme. Victor couldn’t help being a little proud. He felt a lot of anxiety coming off of Yuuri whenever they came close to each other, and Victor wanted nothing more than to approach Yuuri. Just for some friendly encouragement from one fellow athlete to the other, just to tell him he had no reason to be worried because he was Japan’s Ace and had every right to be here, had a rightful place among the final six.

But Chris warned him that his might unsettle Yuuri and mess with his pre-skate concentration. So Victor reigned in his eager wish to finally get to speak to him. To see if Yuuri was his soul mate like he suspected. And hoped. He wasn’t nervous about his own free skate at all. But his heart sped up with anticipation when he watched Yuuri step out on the ice.

Yuuri’s free skate was a disaster.

He barely landed a single one of his jumps, took falls that had the audience gasping and the other skaters cringe with pity and the secret relief of ‘Thank god that’s not me.’ His step sequence was beautiful, as usual. At least that, Victor thought. His heart went out to him. He watched Yuuri step off the ice with his head lowered, his shame and anger palpable. Victor alone looked up while everyone else averted their eyes from Yuuri, but Yuuri didn’t pay attention to anyone as he marched past to the kiss and cry. In fact, Victor even got the feeling that Yuuri hurried past him extra fast, lowered his head just a little more, just as if he wished to make himself invisible to Victor especially.

Chris came over to his room for a pre-banquet drink, lounging around in the armchair in front of the dressing table while Victor modelled five different outfits for him. Chris shook his head, pondered, frowned, and ultimately waved away four of them until he finally agreed to a dark grey three-piece suit with a blue tie and pocket square.

“Oh, before I forget… I brought you these, just in case.” Grinning, Chris reached inside his suit jacket and took a pack of condoms and small tube of lube from the inside pocket. He waved them meaningfully at Victor before he placed them on the dressing table.

“Ass!” Victor shook his head, laughing, but part of him hoped he would have to thank Chis in the morning.

“Let’s hope you get some of that, yes.” Chris chuckled smoothly.

For a long time Victor hadn’t been this excited to attend the banquet. He did what was expected of him, mingled and talked to sponsors, but he was always aware of where Yuuri was, waiting for an opportunity to go over and talk to him. Yuuri looked uncomfortable, holding on to the champagne glass in his hand as if for support. That Thai skater Victor had seen with him in the kiss and cry would barely leave Yuuri’s side. So Victor waited, smiled politely whenever someone talked to him, while he nursed the same glass of champagne and watched from the corner of his eye, waiting for a moment to catch Yuuri alone.

Yuuri was on his fifth glass of champagne - Victor had counted - when his friend gave him one of those ‘I’ll see you in a bit’ pats on the upper arm. Victor straightened immediately, his whole body taut as a bowstring. Sure enough, the Thai skater waved to someone at the other end of the room as he started walking over there, leaving Yuuri alone by the drinks table. Victor put down his glass of stale champagne on the nearest surface and walked over.

Yuuri had his back to him, looking over the choice of drinks on the table while sipping much too quickly from his glass. For a moment Victor listened inside himself, for some sign of recognition. But there was only hope.

“I’ve always found these banquets most dreadfully boring if it wasn’t for the champagne.”

Victor cringed inwardly because what had seemed such a charming and witty opening line in his head sounded terribly stilted said out loud. His Russian accent struck him as embarrassingly prominent all of a sudden, and here he had always prided himself on his good English.

Yuuri swung around when Victor spoke. The moment their eyes met Victor felt something hit him like a fist to his gut. Anyone who knew him would have said of course he would fall in love at first sight. He was exactly that kind of romantic idiot, they would say. It wasn’t the overpowering sense of coming home he had expected after what his mother had told him about souls finding each other. It wasn’t the deep sense of recognition he had felt on first encountering Chris either. He simply fell, fell in complete and utter love at first sight with Yuuri Katsuki, and suddenly so many things shifted places inside his head and his heart.

“Victor…” Oh, it sounded adorable, Victor thought, just two more syllables added to his name in Yuuri’s Japanese accent and they made him tumble further over the edge and fall even harder for the man.

He saw Yuuri’s eyes flit around the room, no doubt searching for his friend and asking for help. But no help came, Victor noticed to his relief, for Yuuri’s tension did not ease up.

“I don’t think we’ve ever been properly introduced…” Victor smiled at him. Suddenly he felt terribly shy. He hoped he didn’t look it too.

Victor’s heart did a quadruple flip in his chest when Yuuri held out his hand.

“Katsuki Yuuri.” Yuuri’s face turned pink with a massive blush. Victor was delighted. “I mean, Yuuri.”

“I know.” Victor took his hand to shake it. He had a firm grip, unlike most Asian people who were unfamiliar with this Western custom of greeting. His hand was warm and soft, and Victor felt a pleasant tingle. “Victor.”

“I know.” Yuuri laughed. He had a beautiful smile. Victor had to laugh with him.

It took him a moment or two to get his nerves under control. He could have put on his professional skating competition mask, channel the discipline that some people said turned him into a machine just before he went out on the ice, but he didn’t want to do that. With Yuuri, he wanted to be _himself._ He should have asked his mother what it felt like to recognise his soulmate though, he thought as he launched into another anecdote about one of his biggest screw ups in a competition. It had Yuuri shaking his head at first in disbelief, and then laughing, softly, as if part of him wondered whether it was okay to laugh about the great Victor Nikiforov. Victor might have coloured in his mishaps a little stronger than they’d been, but he didn’t want to be _the_ Victor Nikiforov to Yuuri. He just wanted to be Victor.

And he hoped to god that he wasn’t coming on too strong. After wanting to meet Yuuri in person for so long, he felt giddy to be finally talking to him. Making him laugh. Yuuri had the cutest accent to his English. Victor wanted to listen to him forever. His jokes were a little clumsy, but they endeared him even more to Victor. It wasn’t the earth-shattering, all-encompassing revelation that Victor had expected the meeting with his soulmate to be, an expectation nurtured over many years of dreaming and waiting. But here he was in the company of this beautiful man who loved skating just as much as Victor did, and it felt as comfortable as if they had known each other for a long time. Much to his own surprise, Victor found he would have settled for having this for the rest of his life rather than waiting for a soulmate he had no guarantee he would ever cross paths with.

Victor couldn’t help touching him. It came instinctively to him, placing one hand in the small of Yuuri’s back when they moved to a less prominent spot as more people crowded around the drinks table. Victor insisted they switch from champagne to water and poured two glasses, and his fingers brushed against the back of Yuuri’s hand when he handed him one. At one point he leaned in closer to push an impertinent strand of hair out of Yuuri’s face and fretted for a moment if it was too much, but Yuuri didn’t flinch.

He couldn’t have said how much time had passed but when Yuuri reached for two more glasses of champagne from the tray of a passing waitress, Victor stilled his hands and looked at him.

“Do you want to get out of there and talk somewhere more… private?” he asked, and hoped Yuuri wouldn’t notice how he was holding his breath waiting for his answer.

Yuuri nodded. Victor tried to exhale in a way that didn’t make him look pathetic.

He sought out Chris while Yuuri said he’d need to let his friend know he was leaving. Chris merely looked at him, his eyebrows raised in a manner that said he knew exactly what was happening.

“Chris,” Victor said. “Even if he turns out not to be my soulmate - I want _this_ man and no other!”

A knowing smile passed between them and Victor headed for the door. Scanning the room with his eyes he saw that Yuuri was still talking to his friend, digging his phone and something Victor thought looked like a key card out of his pocket at this very moment. Victor leaned back against the door frame, one leg bent in the knee and resting against the wall as he tried his best to appear patient and unfazed. When Yuuri finally walked across the room towards him, he peeled himself off the doorframe, involuntarily smiling.

His mouth moved into a grin on its own accord when he stopped outside his hotel room too abruptly for Yuuri, who stumbled and bumped into him just as he reached inside his jacket to fumble for his key card. The sound of Yuuri giggling made Victor still for a brief moment, wondering where he had heard that giggle before. But it was contagious, and delightful, and he chuckled as he slid the key card through the lock.

Victor opened the door and pulled Yuuri inside. For a moment they almost hugged as they stood in the small entry of the hotel room and Yuuri placed one hand one Victor’s arm to steady himself.

“Are you drunk?” Victor asked. He placed one hand under Yuuri’s chin and tilted his face upwards.

“No.” Yuuri shook his head.

“Are you sure?” Victor smiled to play over how nervous he was about Yuuri’s answer. He really didn’t want Yuuri to be drunk.

“Absolutely sure.” After what Chris had told him about Yuuri not socialising with other skaters even in the evening after a competition, Victor felt very, very lucky right at this moment. He got the feeling that Yuuri wanted to be here with him, and the certainty was as strange as it was elating.

He noticed Yuuri looking around his room curiously. Victor didn’t even see the room anymore, he had been in too many hotels over the years. In recent years, they had all been the same lavish, over the top style, especially here in Eastern Europe. Walking across the room now he dimmed the lights, shrugged his jacket off and loosened his tie in passing until only the lamp right above the bed was still on and shed its dimmed, almost romantic glow across the room.

He tossed his jacket and tie carelessly onto a velvet-covered bench at the foot of the bed and turned around to Yuuri again. Yuuri was standing by the dressing table, his jacket and tie now thrown over the back of the leather armchair Chris had lounged around in earlier that evening. 

When their eyes met, the few steps between them became too wide. They moved slowly towards each other to breach the distance, and Victor felt himself reach out for him instinctively, like his body was straining towards Yuuri. Relief washed over him when Yuuri took that last step still remaining between them and met his waiting hands.

They kissed. And oh, Victor thought, Yuuri kissed so well.

“God, Yuuri, you…” He couldn’t help it. He groaned. His hands came down hard on Yuuri’s shoulders for support because something about this kiss made the earth move underneath his feet. The feeling was so familiar, yet so much more powerful in real life. “You kiss like a dream! Just as beautifully as you skate. When did you find the time learn to kiss like that?”

_Please say you remember kissing me like this_ , Victor thought, the words thundering in his mind like his heart in his chest, but Yuuri just gave him a long glance from hooded eyes and no answer, at least not one that involved words, only the firm pressure of his tongue against Victor’s lips demanding entrance.

“I thought we were going to talk…” Victor gasped, reluctantly tearing his mouth away from Yuuri’s. He reached for his wrists where Yuuri’s hands had dropped from carding through his hair to the buttons of his shirt, the touch so familiar that Victor wanted to be damned if Yuuri wasn’t the one from his dreams. He held Yuuri still by his wrists for a moment, gaze sinking into dark eyes, asking.

“Would you rather we stopped this and talked?” Yuuri smirked at him and tore his hands free. He continued unbuttoning Victor’s shirt like he’d been placed on earth to do just this. And Victor couldn’t fight down the excitement that took hold of him. It was probably very plain to see in his eyes and face, for Yuuri graced him with a smile of such courage and confidence at this very moment that Victor’s soul surged with recognition. He needed to be careful though, he thought. If Yuuri didn’t say something he wouldn’t either. He would not ruin this moment, not even if one way or the other, Yuuri was the one he had been waiting for all his life.

“Absolutely not.” He smiled, happiness flooding through him as he cupped Yuuri’s face with both hands for another kiss. It was better than his dreams. Everything felt so right about this.

Still kissing, they moved towards the bed, fumbling with shirt buttons and belt buckles.

Victor sank down when he felt his knees hit the bed. Looking up at Yuuri, he felt stunned. This was so many of his dreams come true. He should have known the first time he saw Yuuri move on the ice. He had been dreaming about the music that was being made with this body. He moved back on the bed, crawling upwards, very aware of how his unbuttoned shirt fell open to his sides and how his pants strained tight over his crotch because he was so hard. He flipped his hair from his face and looked up at Yuuri, willing him to see that all this was for him if he wanted it.

Yuuri’s beauty was everything that had been forever ingrained on his heart and mind, Victor knew, as he looked up at him and wanted to be devoured with all the hunger he could see in Yuuri’s eyes. He watched him take off his glasses and put them on the bedside table before he sat down on the edge of the bed. Victor felt the caress of Yuuri’s eyes on his face like a promise, never moving as Yuuri climbed on the bed and hitched one of his legs over his body so that he came to straddle his hips between his knees. The need Victor felt was almost choking him. He had had no idea how much he wanted to be here, like this, under Yuuri, trapped between his thighs. A fleeting question ran through his head when he saw Yuuri look down at his own chest in confusion for a moment and shake his head, but then Yuuri moved his hips against him, and Victor moaned. His hands shot up under the side of Yuuri’s unbuttoned shirt and he caressed his hips and the delectable soft stomach. As if his hands remembered the feel of Yuuri’s body and exactly how to touch him, he brushed his fingertips over perky nipples and felt accomplished when his touch drew a low moan from Yuuri.

It happened so fast that for years to come Victor would remember every detail. One moment Yuuri was leaning over him, the pillow dipping next to Victor’s face where Yuuri rested his left arm as he bent down to kiss him. When Yuuri moved his other arm, Victor could have sworn he saw the light catch in the blade of a knife. A searing pain shot through the scar on his neck, so overwhelming he saw white before his eyes for a split second and thought he was going to pass out. He reacted immediately, survival instincts kicking in so strongly that he forgot where he was and who he was with and just pushed Yuuri off in self-defence, rolled out of bed and jumped to his feet.

“What the fuck!” Yuuri shouted on the other side of the bed as he struggled to stay on his feet.

Victor didn’t hear him. He saw Yuuri yet didn’t see him. Not in this room. In a different one. Victor knew his frantic breathing was loud and that he was staring, stunned, but there was nothing he could do about it. The sudden onslaught of pictures, words, emotions, threatened to crush him.

“If you didn’t want me to do this you could have just told me to stop, you know!” Yuuri was glaring at him, his words sounding like he forced them out with great effort. Victor saw the confusion, the anger, and, oh. His heart wanted to erupt when he saw the rejection Yuuri felt.

“Yuuri!” Victor said, overwhelmed. Memories were crushing him, the weight of a whole lifetime pressing down on his shoulders, making his head feel like splitting, and his heart want to burst out of his chest, his arms want to reach out and crush Yuuri to his chest and never let him go. He wanted to cry with sheer relief. 

“You’re… _Yuuri_.” Victor sounded as full of wonder as he felt. 

“Yes. Yes, I am. Katsuki Yuuri, and you are Victor Nikiforov, and you…” Yuuri frowned as if he was trying to remember something. “You… hooked up with me at the post Grand Prix final banquet.”

And Victor felt his heart, his soul, his whole world plummet. He tried to smile but he was sure it looked as pained as he was feeling. “Yes,” he said faintly. “And you… wanted to hook up with me?”

Yuuri snorted. “I have waited forever for this moment!”

“You _have_?” Hope flared up in him, tremendous longing clogging his throat. Perhaps, a moment ago, he had misunderstood. Relief reared its head. “Oh Yuuri, for a moment I wasn’t sure…”

“I mean _years_!” Yuuri corrected himself. He looked pleased with himself. “More than ten years. Ever since I first saw you on TV when I was 12 years old. You had just won gold in the Junior World Championship.”

“I see.” Victor felt like all the light and good things died inside him at this very moment. It came automatically, the switching on the smile he normally plastered onto his face for press and photographers.

“You were so beautiful…” Yuuri said, and Victor looked at him, saw the bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed.

They were staring at each other across the bed in the dimmed light.

“You’ve been a fan of mine then for that long, Yuuri?” Victor touched on his neck, where he felt the cut throbbing and he feared bleeding, too. He looked at his hand when he pulled it away. There was nothing there, and he lowered it to his side in confusion.

“From the first moment I saw you.” Yuuri took a cautious step towards the lower end of the bed. So did Victor. Something hummed between them, not audible to the human ear but very much to them, connecting and pulling them like invisible thread.

“Funny you should say that, Yuuri…” Victor paused at the foot of the bed. “… it’s been the same for me with you.”

_I have loved you from the moment our eyes met the first time_ , he thought, and heard the echo of words speaking a twisted truth in a different bedroom a long time ago.

_I have hated myself from the moment our eyes met the first time_.

He saw the frown on Yuuri’s face and took a step back with every step that Yuuri came closer. “What do you mean?” Yuuri asked and licked his lips.

“I’ve wanted to meet you from the very first moment I saw you,” Victor told him and held his gaze.

“I don’t believe you. I’m just a dime-a-dozen skater, as I proudly showed tonight. I shouldn’t be here.”

Victor shook his head. He felt sad. “You’re so much more than that, Yuuri…” he murmured.

If only he could tell him. If only Yuuri remembered.

Yuuri took another step.

Victor’s back hit the wall.

The world paused for a moment. Something wavered between them, Victor knew, something he could have given a thousand names. He knew why they were drawn together like magnets, why these emotions hung heavy over this room. Driven by the fierce longing of several lifetimes, he pulled Yuuri close by the sides of his shirt until their faces were mere inches apart and he sighed against his mouth, whispering, “Kiss me, Yuuri.”

It was like coming home. All those dreams over the years had been a weak reminder of what it was really like to kiss Yuuri, to feel him close. Victor felt all his senses spring to life and attune themselves to him. They didn’t even need to be told the way. Every single part of Victor knew it. He knew him so well. So he kissed him like he knew Yuuri liked to be kissed, firm and demanding, pulling him home with every stroke of his tongue until Yuuri tore himself away from his mouth, gasping desperately for breath. At least their bodies recognised each other, Victor thought as they ground their crotches together, so hungry and needy and hard for each other. He had never wanted anyone as much, never anyone as much as Yuuri.

“So, Yuuri. Are you going to do this or not?” Victor asked. He hated how he made it sound like a challenge, eyes flashing a dare at Yuuri because he knew it was one of the ways to coax Yuuri out of his comfort zone.

“Oh, I’m going to do this alright!” Yuuri muttered. Victor knew he was ‘this’, was happy to be ‘this’ again.

They sent their clothes flying, uncaring where they ended up. And he made a mental note to thank Chris in the morning because having lube and condoms right there on the dressing table saved him a lot of time of having to fetch something from his vanity in the bathroom. Moments flared up before his eyes, memories, their roles reversed in a similar situation, and regret washed over him and forced his legs further apart, made him open up further to take Yuuri home. It was beyond Victor how Yuuri could not see how meant to be this was, who they were, _how_ they were. He grabbed Yuuri’s face with both hands and looked at him, willing him to see how much more he needed him, so much more than just here and now in the throes of a brief physical encounter. Willing Yuuri to see him, while he urged him on with his legs wrapped provocatively around his middle. _Please recognise me_ , Victor thought with every time Yuuri pounded him into the wall. _Please remember._ It was fast, and messy, and Victor held on tight to Yuuri and the memory of them, unable to restrain his sounds or motions because his body, heart and soul were singing at the reconnection.

Afterwards Victor clung to him, overwhelmed and unwilling to let him go. He let his hands reacquaint themselves with Yuuri, caressed his face and murmured quietly, loving when Yuuri leaned into him and lowered his face into the curve of his neck.

“Victor…” He felt the vibration of Yuuri’s voice against his throat. And then the kiss, the lips on the scar on the side of his neck. A toe-curling shudder made his whole body shake as the thoughts became unbearable.

_Don’t you remember, Yuuri? You put it there. You marked me yours. When our life together began with the moment you wanted to end mine._

Yuuri leaned back in his arms so that he was able to look at him. His face was very red, but his expression was one of satisfied astonishment. It broke Victor’s heart that Yuuri was surprised about being where he had always meant to be.

“Yuuri.” Victor said the one word like it was his last. “Do you have to go?”

Yuuri looked up at his question. Victor titled his head, just a little, trying not to appear too eager. Or sad.

“Do you _want_ me to go?” Yuuri asked.

Victor shook his head immediately, the need to keep Yuuri here pulsing through his veins instead of blood.

“I don’t want to go,” Yuuri said quietly. “Can I stay?”

He used both hands to caress Yuuri’s face. “As long as you want.”

Victor took Yuuri to his hotel room bed as if it was their own. He worshipped every inch of Yuuri’s body, with his eyes, his hands, his mouth, revelling in the bliss of having this again. Determined to make Yuuri remember his love by touching him like he knew Yuuri liked to be touched. Every kiss, every caress told Yuuri that he was precious. Cherished. That he was loved.

It was the stretch marks on Yuuri’s stomach that broke him. Victor drew a sharp breath and closed his eyes to the onslaught of tears, tears of utter relief and happiness to see that in this life Yuuri had always had so much food to eat that he had even had a chance to put on a little extra weight. He had seen it earlier of course. Immaculate teeth. Muscles. Taut skin. A healthy pallor. Strong bones, or Yuuri would never have been able to skate, to do jumps. Of course, this was his in-season body, lean and toned. Except for this soft stretch of stomach that Victor guessed withstood even the most vigorous exercise. The marks that told him stories of what he chose to believe was a happy Yuuri enjoying his food.

Above him, Yuuri made a small sound of embarrassment but Victor would be damned if he did not give this vital part the acknowledgment it deserved. He reached for Yuuri’s hand that was trying to steer his head away from his stomach, making Victor’s heart shatter all over again in his chest when he realised that this actually bothered Yuuri. That he clearly felt ashamed of this sign of a life without wanting for something as basic as enough food to eat. Victor’s wound his fingers tight around Yuuri’s and stopped his hand from stopping Victor from showering his stomach with kisses, his eyes squeezed shut because he would never have been able to explain those tears to Yuuri.

They fit together like two halves of a whole, but then Victor was not surprised. They always had. He murmured to Yuuri how beautiful he was as their fingers interlaced on the sheets and they moved together. How much he had waited for this. He chose his words carefully, afraid to destroy this moment, but he smiled against Yuuri’s ear when he felt Yuuri’s finger winding tighter around his, felt Yuuri pushing his hips eagerly into Victor’s every move as if his body remembered. 

Afterwards, he held Yuuri in his arms, held on to the warm, sated afterglow feeling.

“Eros,” Victor said tenderly. He moved his fingertips over Yuuri’s bare arm like skating figures.

“Hm?” Yuuri turned his head up to look at him.

Victor smiled. “Who would have thought that such ‘eros’ was hiding inside you, Yuuri Katsuki?”

Yuuri looked tired. His face contorted with the attempt at trying to hide a yawn. It made Victor smile more. His eyes remained on Yuuri’s face as he reached back for the switch beside the bed and turned off the lights.

A memory came unbidden to him the moment the light went out. Something Yuuri had said.

_You took something very precious from me._

In the darkness, Victor pulled Yuuri closer, cradled his head tighter against his heart. All the memories, Victor thought, they were a most valuable gift. He wished he knew how to share them with Yuuri and make him see what he had gifted him with.

“You gave something very precious to me tonight, Yuuri. Thank you.” He said it like he wanted to caress Yuuri with his voice. He could feel Yuuri blushing, his skin growing distinctly warmer where he lay cuddled up in his arms.

That night, Victor lay awake for the longest time while Yuuri was fast asleep with his head buried against his chest, his aching, heavy heart beating under Yuuri’s ear, but Yuuri didn’t hear him.

He woke up to an empty bed beside him, his arm on cooled down sheets where he was sure it had been draped possessively over Yuuri’s waist the last time he opened his eyes. He heard a faint rustle from somewhere at the foot of the bed, the muted sound of feet walking hastily over carpets. Yuuri came into his field of view then, bending down by the bedside table to reach for his glasses. He was dressed, and Victor felt dread rise in him. He knew what this meant.

“Do you have to go?” His voice sounded throaty, full of sleep.

Yuuri’s movements appeared slowed down as he put his glasses on and perched on the side of the bed. He looked caught out, and scared, Victor could see it plainly in his eyes and face.

“Were you at least going to leave me your number?”

He tried to make it sound light, and not to sound too desperate. Yuuri was leaving. Like so many others before. The one person who had every reason to stay was scared of him and running away. Somewhere deep inside him, his heart started bleeding like the cut at the side of his neck had, pumping a throbbing pain into every cell of his body. It wasn’t hard to find his plastic camera smile while inside him everything fell apart; Victor did that all the time.

“I… Victor. I’m sorry. I have to go. Phichit must be worried, and Celestino will be coming to get us soon, our… plane back to Detroit is leaving quite early.”

Yuuri was making excuses. Victor knew it and part of him almost wanted to laugh. This was like a bad movie script, and Yuuri didn’t even know the full extent of it. Panic chained Victor down onto this bed, the thoughts running on overdrive in his head. Yuuri was leaving, and he didn’t know if he could bear it a second time.

“Yuuri. Can I see you again?” Victor raised himself up on one elbow.

_I know you care nothing for my love, but that, too, is yours._

His own words, past and present, were so loud in his head.

Yuuri smiled. “Sure. We’ll see each other at Worlds. _If_ I make it.”

Victor was sure he meant for it to sound like a joke, but his expression changed all of a sudden, and he looked at Victor, terrified, humiliated. How many times a heart could break, Victor thought at this very moment as he helplessly witnessed all confidence and self-worth seeping from Yuuri’s face and posture.

“I’m sorry.” Yuuri rose from the bed. “I have to go.”

As he turned his back on him, Victor saw himself, walking towards a door in another life, leaving Yuuri who hadn’t been able to stand being around him already back then.

_You may burn my silly letters._

Victor watched him grab his suit jacket and his tie from the chair by the dressing table on his way to the door. When he turned around again before he disappeared from sight, hope flared up in Victor for a moment that this could be it, the moment that triggered Yuuri’s memories. 

“Victor…” Yuuri cleared his throat. “Thank you. For everything.”

He left the room before Victor could say or do anything to hold him back, and Victor was left behind, dazed, confused, frozen in time and place by the memory of doors between them.

_Why would I do such a thing? The words remind me of how I once felt loved by you_.

Victor’s breath became ragged and loud as he stared at the place where Yuuri had last stood, before he turned and took everything with him that would have stopped Victor from falling to pieces.

~ ~ ~ 

"You let him fuck you against the wall??????” Chris asked incredulously.

He had knocked on Victor’s door some time mid-morning, after Victor replied to his unmistakably teasing text message that he might as well come over for Yuuri was long gone. Intrigued, Chris had wasted no time and was now sitting on the velvet-covered bench at the foot of Victor’s bed, listening to Victor giving him an account of the night before.

Victor paused where he was reaching for one of his shirts on a hanger in the closet, packing forgotten momentarily as he tried to think of a reply to Chris’ outburst. 

“It was…” His face coloured a little. “It had something to do with what happened in the past.”

Chris raised one eyebrow with interest but Victor turned to face the wardrobe again, thinking he’d better not tell Chris about how he had felt that it was only fair after that other time, but this was between him and Yuuri.

“Victoooor...” Chris looked at him, expectantly.

Victor took a deep breath. “Yuuri tried to kill me.”

“What!!!” Chris jumped up. “Have you called the police???”

“Not last night! _Before_.”

Gaping, Chris slumped down on the bench again. “You mean he’s... he was...”

Victor nodded, while Chris exhaled a surprised “Wow.”

“So many things make sense now, Chris. The fact that I’ve never liked Lilia, but always trusted Yakov with my life. Why I’ve seen a castle in my dreams.”

“But Yuuri, he...”

Victor shook his head, and something about the defeat in the simple motion made Chris shut up.

While Victor took carefully hung clothes from the wardrobe and folded them before he put them in his suitcase, he told Chris more, including some details, omitting others.

Chris tried not to laugh, “Um... Victor... when you said he gave you something very precious, he probably believed you were referring to his virginity.”

Victor swung around. “What! But that’s not what I meant! And what do you mean ‘virginity’?”

“Well…” Chris coughed. “It’s quite well known that Yuuri has hero-worshipped you since he was a teenager. Some of us reckoned that he was saving himself for you.”

“Not well known to _me_!” Victor said crisply.

Chris scratched his head. At least he looked a little embarrassed. “I think I… chose not to tell you once you started obsessing over him?”

“ _Thank_ you! Remind me again why you’re my best friend?” Victor dropped the shirt he had been folding into his suitcase and slumped down on the bench at the foot of the bed, next to Chris.

“I was referring to something from back then, something he said... “ He blinked, confused now.

“Yes, but he doesn’t remember that, so…” Chris fell silent when Victor uttered an almighty groan.

“Oh god, Chris! He’ll think I’m a chauvinist prize idiot!” Victor buried his face in his hands.

Chris heard the muffled “Fuuuuuck!!!!!” and placed one comforting arm around him, but there was no comfort in the way said arm trembled from the laughter rocking through Chris’ body.

Eventually, his laughter ceased, and he wound his arm a little tighter around Victor’s shoulder.

“Let’s stay another day.” After a while, Victor looked at him, pleading. “I’ll pay for the hotel and the rebooking of our flights. I just want to talk to you a bit longer. Hang out with a friend.”

Chris considered the offer for a moment. “I don’t have practise for another two days, but won’t Yakov be mad if you just show up a day late?”

“Of course he will.” Victor shrugged, carelessly. His face transformed into that of the man on the posters, the one in front of the cameras, and Chris took a deep breath as he watched him. Victor knew that Chris hated it when his friend became the untouchable living legend.

“After all, I’m Victor fucking Nikiforov.” His voice was dripping with sarcasm. “It’s what I do, isn’t it?”

“You really like playing that up, don’t you?” Chris mused quietly. He looked sad.

The mask fell, leaving behind Victor’s own grief-stricken expression. “After last night, Chris, I don’t really have much else.”

_If you have everything the world has to offer you, but you do not have love, then you are the poorest of the poorest of the poor._

The quote from his favourite book went round and round in his head, as he slumped his shoulders and looked down at his hands. He could still feel Yuuri under them, and yet they were so empty.

“Victor…” Chris started, followed by a sigh.

Victor shook his head as he looked at him from the side, but Chris wasn’t easily brushed off anymore. They knew each other too well by now.

“What happened to ‘Even if he’s not my soulmate, I want this man and no other?’” he asked.

Victor took a deep breath. It sounded a little shaky. “He left in the morning. Quite obviously he couldn’t get away from me fast enough. I believe the message was quite clear.” A bitter disappointment rang from his words, but underneath there was something else, something that made Chris look very serious.

“Victor. Don’t.” He said it quietly but the warning was not hidden.

When Victor didn’t answer and just started poking his opened suitcase listlessly with one foot, Chris sighed audibly.

“Don’t you dare take this out on yourself and believe it’s your fault and everyone’s always leaving you.”

“Chris—”

Victor shut his mouth when Chris raised one hand like a strict teacher.

“Most probably he was simply overwhelmed. By everything. I’ve seen him at several competitions, and I bet my arse he felt mortified about his fucked up free skate. I’m absolutely sure he’s angry with himself and embarrassed, especially because he screwed up in front of _you_. He’s wanted to be worthy of competing with you for years. We all want that.”

Victor felt the words like knives, stabbing and cutting where it hurt the most. Yuuri possibly feeling unworthy of his time and regard, as a person and as a fellow athlete, was unbearable to him.

“And, Victor. He may not have been waiting for you since another lifetime but he’s been crushing on you for so long. We all look up to you, our whole generation is in awe and sometimes infuriatingly jealous of your unbeatable ass. But I don’t think any one of us is as much of a die-hard fan of yours as Yuuri is. I dare say he has posters of you all over his room. The fact that you noticed him, that you wanted to talk to him, took an interest in him... you spent the night with him and from what you’ve told me it was one hell of a night... he’s overwhelmed. He got to fuck you into a wall, he’ll be _living_! It’s too much to process. That’s why he ran. Not because of you.”

Chris grabbed his shoulders to make them look at each other as much as possible sitting side by side on the bench.

“Give him some time. Get to know each other. See what happens next time you meet. At Worlds.”

“But what if he doesn’t—”

“But what if he _does_?”

Victor blushed a little at Chris’ words.

“It’s so heavy, Chris.” He placed one fist on his heart. “I have all this love, and he... doesn’t...”

“He might,” Chris said firmly. “Give him a little time to work through his nerves and his anxiety. He’s _so_ into you, Victor, and I cannot see him _not_ falling for you, once he’s accepted you’re not the untouchable hero he’s put on a pedestal for so long. But a very sweet, very smart, very vain and very over the top human, with flaws like the rest of us.”

Victor smiled, but he felt like crying. Thank god for Chris, he thought. Thank all the gods!

“I’m going out to get us something to drink.” Chris patted Victor’s shoulder as he rose from the bench and headed towards the door. “You’ll never tell me the really good stuff unless I get you drunk.”

Victor laughed. He picked up his phone he had placed on the bed within reach and waved it at Chris.

“I’ll book our flights in the meantime.”

But when the door closed behind Chris, it wasn’t flights he looked up when he unlocked his phone screen. He called up a number in his most important contacts instead and rubbed his eyes when the call collected.

“Vitya!” His mother’s voice sounded happy. Always so happy when he called. “How are you?”

“I found him,” Victor said without introduction. He knew they didn’t any between them. “I’ve found my soulmate.”

“Oh Vitya, that’s wonderful!” Her joy and her excitement were audible, and he could imagine how beautiful she would look right now, her whole face lit up by a smile. “Is it your Yuuri, like you were hoping?”

“Mamochka, he doesn’t remember.” Victor’s voice broke. “Yuuri doesn’t remember _us_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know... but all Victor remembers will be revealed and become much clearer! :)


	3. Chapter 3

~ Interlude ~

_Turning to go I heard you call out my name_

“Excuse me!” His heart threatened to jump out of his chest. Not even before his biggest competitions to date had he felt as nervous as he was now, but he knew he had to do this.

He could only hope that the man who thankfully stopped and turned around to him now would not think him a raging lunatic. He couldn’t see his eyes behind the huge sunglasses, which was just as well or he would probably have lost courage. There wasn’t much time, he knew this, and he knew that he might only have this one shot at roping in the help he began to feel he desperately needed, so he did what he did best.

He let his mouth run away with him.

“You will _never_ believe what I’m going to tell you now, but please hear me out! I swear this is not some weird new trick of us young skaters to come on to you senior ones, or a trick to get to Victor through you! And Yuuri would be so pissed off with me if he knew I’m doing this, so I would be really grateful if you didn’t tell him I waylaid you here in the corridor like some stalker or something. And I’m not drunk, and not stoned or hallucinating, I’m actually really serious about this, even though it’s absolutely unbelievable and you won’t believe one word of it, and probably call security to have me removed from this floor, but I promise you, it’s really important, so please, _please_ , PLEASE hear me out!”

Christophe Giacometti pushed his sunglasses down his nose with one finger and looked at him over the top.

“Is this about Victor and his previous life by any chance?” he asked calmly.

“Oh thank GOD, he remembers!!!” Phichit exclaimed as relief washed over him like a thundering wave.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this is very emotional. Very! Emotional!

~ Ireland ~

_The pounding sea is calling me home_

_Home to you_

When Yuuri was twenty-three, he boarded a plane to Ireland.

His messed up free skate in the Grand Prix Final had only been the start of what was to become his very worst season ever. Having failed in the Japanese Nationals he didn’t even make it to Four Continents and the World Championships. He returned to Detroit like a kicked puppy, finished college and, much to the distress of everyone involved, ended his working relationship with Celestino. He stuck around long enough for Phichit to get through with his end-of-term exams, organising his move back home for lack of anything better to do for the time being and not knowing where his life would take him next.

Or if he would actually remain a figure skater.

Unable to sleep on the long flight, which was untypical for him and only added to his feeling uprooted, he relived the past couple of months over and over again in his mind. The disappointment, shame and utter embarrassment he felt over his failures were crushing if he allowed them. And then the other thing. That hollow sentiment of longing in his heart whenever he thought of Victor. He had barely been able to watch Four Continents and Worlds. As a skater, he admired Victor more than ever. But more than that, he longed to spend time with the _man_ now. Phichit had offered several times to try and reach out to some people, saying he would nag as long and hard as it took to weasel Victor’s number out of someone for Yuuri. But Yuuri always declined. He wasn’t ready. He wanted to be worthy of Victor before he faced him again, or he wouldn’t be able to face himself in the mirror.

“Yuuri?”

It was only when he turned at Phichit’s careful approach and found him holding out a tissue that Yuuri noticed that, looking out the window at the countryside below them as the plane descended, he had begun to cry.

“This means something, don’t you think?” Phichit asked, trying for soft but he could barely sit still in his seat with excitement.

“Or it means that I am just exhausted from an almost twenty-hour-trip,” Yuuri murmured but gratefully accepted the tissue, wiped his eyes, and blew his nose.

Phichit sighed and rubbed one of Yuuri’s arms affectionately. They had promised themselves to make the most of this trip, to enjoy every moment together before they had to part ways as soon as they came back to Detroit because Yuuri would leave for Japan and Phichit would stay behind.

And this was exactly what they were going to do.

Enjoy every moment.

~ ~ ~

Victor didn’t hear the insistent knocking on his hotel room door. He was lying on the bed, earphones in, still clad in the towel robe he had put on after his shower, though he couldn’t have said now much time had passed since then. The blanket was pulled up to his waist and he had his eyes closed to the music, the dramatic harp chords and the haunting voice that was relating a heart-wrenching Scottish ballad. If he hadn’t forgotten to mute his phone he would have missed the two short beeps that announced an incoming message over the music.

_Victor! Open your fucking door!!_

He pulled the plugs from his ears so hastily that they came out of his phone too and landed on the floor with a barely audible sound as he swung his legs out of bed. His feet made no sound on the thick carpets when he shuffled through the room towards the door and opened it to Chris.

“What the hell are you doing?” Chris strolled into the room like it was his own. He followed the music that now filled the room, the song just starting all over again on repeat.

_…My love lies on him and cannot remove…_

Chris tutted and tapped the display to pause the song. He swung around to Victor, both eyebrows pointedly raised.

“That’s enough drama queen for now, okay? You owe me dinner.”

Victor came closer and lowered himself down on the bed from the other side. “I don’t know, Chris, I’m tired…”

“You’re pining, there’s a difference.” Chris walked over to the closet and opened the doors. “I know you’re upset Yuuri didn’t make it to Four Continents, nor here to Worlds, and that he hasn’t tried to reach out to you somehow. But you can keep on wallowing tomorrow. Tonight you’re on best friend duty. I win silver at Worlds - you buy me dinner, that was our deal.”

He had looked through the neatly folded clothes in the wardrobe while speaking and now reached for an expensive looking pair of black pants and a white dress shirt, turned back around and tossed them on the bed close to where Victor was sitting.

“Get ready.” Chris looked at him expectantly. “And don’t make me pick out your underwear too.”

“You say that like I would actually let you do that.” A smile appeared on Victor’s face and he rose from the bed.

“And as soon as this season is over we’re going on a little holiday. My treat.”

Victor shut the closet door, socks and underwear in one hand, and looked at Chris in surprise.

“We’ve never gone on holiday together,” he mused.

“Probably because you’re in such a bad mood,” Chris replied drily. “Who wants to go on holiday with such a sourpuss?”

“Ass.” Victor grinned and headed for the bathroom with his clothes under his arm.

~ ~ ~

On their first night in Dublin, Yuuri and Phichit went on a pub crawl which landed them spontaneously in a team of international students at a table quiz in the last pub of the tour. They stayed, contributed some of the correct answers – _What is Thailand's official calendar?_ and _What is the oldest monarchy in the world still existing today? (Japan)_ – and landed the team in first place, which involved a round of free drinks.

They arrived back at their hotel giggling loudly and crashing into about twenty lamp posts and flower pots on the way until they finally managed to unlock the door to their room and fell backwards on the large double bed, laughing breathlessly and singing Irish drinking songs until they passed out.

The next day they did a hungover sightseeing tour, staying on the bus for several rounds around the city instead of hopping on and off. When they finally got off at the stop nearest to their hotel, they spontaneously went into a souvenir shop they happened to pass by, laughing about T-shirts and hats, smelling perfumes and soap, and debating which postcards to send home to their families.

Phichit wanted to look at jewellery, so Yuuri browsed some more on his own, shaking his head a little about how tacky some of these things were. He paused in front of one shelf, involuntarily drawn closer, his heart in his throat all of a sudden when something like recognition shot through him.

“What’s this?”

He flinched when Phichit appeared by his side unnoticed.

Yuuri didn’t look up from the flat oval stone in his hand, watching his own thumb run slowly back and forth over the cool, smooth green marble.

“It’s a worry stone,” he replied wistfully, “you rub the hollow and it absorbs all your worries.”

“How do you know?”

Yuuri smiled, a little sadly. “I gave it to someone as a gift. I don’t remember who though. I just feel like… it meant something.”

Phichit gave him a moment, before he took two of the stones in their small boxes announcing it couldn’t hurt to have something like this in their possession, before he gently steered Yuuri away from what was obviously making him sad, and tried to distract him by asking his opinion on some rings instead.

They bought some postcards and stamps for home, as well as some terribly tacky Leprechaun hats. On the way back to their hotel they got some take-out and drinks and every kind of Irish potato chips they could find to take back to their room. In honour of their tour guide and how much he had made them laugh, they wore their Leprechaun hats and talked English with a fake Irish accent to each other all evening.

~ ~ ~

Victor started laughing as soon as they got out of the taxi. The late April sun was hot already, and he took his sunglasses from his breast pocket and put them on. He looked up on the outside of the hotel, tilted his head all the way back until he could make out the famous turquoise front at the top while he waited for Chris to pay the taxi driver. When the man walked round the car to open the boot, Victor stepped up to reach for his own suitcase. Chris took his own luggage from the taxi driver with a cheerful “Thank you.”

“I should have gone on holiday with you sooner,” Victor remarked as they walked up to the double door of glass and wood. “Although I thought you would have booked us into a five-star, if I’m honest.”

“Come on, this belongs to Bono!” Chris shrugged as if this explained why this hotel was the only obvious choice in the city.

Victor chuckled as he followed him inside the Clarence Hotel.

Their rooms were next to each other and overlooking Temple Bar out the back of the hotel. While Victor went about his normal routine of unpacking all this clothes neatly in the wardrobe he heard a knock on Chris’ door and muted voices. He grinned over his socks. The faint rattle of a cart holding glasses and a bucket of ice chilling a bottle of champagne was unmistakable. Trust Chris to travel in style.

Once he had finished unpacking and changed into something more comfortable, he grabbed the spare keycard Chris had given him for his room and went next door.

“Chris?” he called out as he looked around the room and the clothes strewn all over the place, obviously dragged from the opened suitcase in the middle of the floor.

“I’m in the bath!” a smooth voice called back, accompanied by a little echo.

“Of course you are,” Victor muttered as he stepped over a pair of jeans on the floor and followed the scent of some elegant bathing fragrance.

Sure enough, Chris was immersed in clouds of foam, only his head looking out the water and one hand holding a glass of champagne. He nodded at the cart with the champagne, motioning for Victor to help himself. Victor poured champagne into the second glass and grabbed a strawberry from the glass bowl beside the ice bucket before he perched on the lower end of the marble bath and raised his glass to Chris.

“How is it being back?” Chris asked and took a sip from his own glass.

Victor took a bite out of the strawberry to think, chewing slowly and washing it down with champagne.

“It feels like coming home,” he said at last. Looking into his glass he watched the dance of the tiny bubbles. “This sound ridiculous, doesn’t it? My home is Russia, and yet…” He shrugged. Sighed. Drank.

“I didn’t come to Dublin much.” He took a shaky breath, almost as if saying the words could bring something into the world that scared him. “My… estates were out west. Galway.”

Chris nodded almost to himself. For a moment they let comfortable silence hang over them. The dripping of water from a tap resounded strangely loud in the marble bathroom.

“What did you do? Out west?” Chris asked at last, sitting up in the bath and reaching for the bottle to pour himself some more champagne. Foamy water slid down his chest as he leaned forward to take a strawberry. Once he settled back in the warm water, he sighed happily.

“Lived a simple life.” Victor smiled wistfully and took a sip from his glass. “Grew different kinds of vegetables and taught the people how important it is to have a variety so that something like…”

He paused, staring at the half eaten strawberry in his hand.

“So that people wouldn’t starve again when disease befalls the one crop everyone relies on.”

When he looked up, he was smiling again. “I even learned to speak Irish so that I could…”

He fell silent.

“So that you could tell him ‘I love you’ in his own language?” Chris smiled.

Blushing lightly, Victor nodded.

“Can you still say it?”

Victor downed the rest of his champagne in one go.

“I can, but I won’t say it in front of you. These words are only for Yuuri. They always were.”

~ ~ ~

The museum was a long stretched complex of two buildings set at a right angle, and yet it appeared almost quaint to them compared to the buildings they were used to from the US. It had been a spontaneous decision; seeing as Dublin was quite small and they had seen pretty much all the sights in one day already, they decided to check out the history and decorative arts branch of the National Museum.

An exhibition about Irish soldiers throughout the centuries gave Yuuri an unfamiliar tingle down his spine. Unpleasant memories of the night in the Irish pub in Detroit came back to haunt him, and he muttered to Phichit under his breath that something in here was giving him the creeps.

It was when they bent over a glass case of collected armour used by Irish rebels and independence underground soldiers that the panic set in. The familiar curl of anxiety sat heavy in Yuuri’s stomach, and he dug in fingers so deeply in Phichit’s arm that Phichit winced and Yuuri apologised quickly. Looking around if any of the museum guards was paying them attention, Phichit dragged Yuuri to a nearby bench and sat him down, counting him quietly through his breathing until the panic attack subsided.

“Should we leave?” he asked when Yuuri’s breathing was back to normal, his face twisted with concern.

“No, I… want to look at those knives some more, I’ve got… god, Phichit, I’ve got the strangest pictures before my eyes!”

They were whispering, trying not to bother other visitors and especially not the museum staff.

When Yuuri felt able to trust his legs to hold him upright again, he rose from the bench and walked back over to the glass case, Phichit close behind and keeping an eye on him,

Yuuri looked at the display of knives for a very long time. One knife in particular held his attention. He did not see it. He felt the weight of it in his hands. He felt the cold of the blade, and the faintest sting as he tested its sharpness. He felt the very moment his fingers closed around the handle, and the stretch in his shoulder when he would yank his arm and strike. One of his wrists shot up to his mouth as he suddenly felt he was going to be sick, and luckily Phichit was there, having looked out very carefully for the signs this time. He grabbed Yuuri by the arm and led him towards the exit, assuring a well-meaning museum warden that they were fine when she asked them if they were alright.

Outside, the late spring sun blinded them, and for a moment it made them stop and squint. Then, Phichit led Yuuri across a street onto a small green just close by the museum, where he found an unoccupied bench in the shade of a large tree and sat Yuuri down.

He gave him time. He knew sometimes this was the only way to handle those moments. The flashbacks, when coupled with an anxiety attack, could take a lot out of Yuuri.

Phichit took a water bottle from Yuuri’s backpack and held it out to him, and Yuuri drank, so hastily that some drops ran down his lips and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Phichit… that was _my_ knife,” he said at last, his voice sombre.

Phichit’s eyes widened.

“I think…” Yuuri’s hands shook and it took him several attempts to screw the lid back on the water bottle. His eyes flitted over something in the distance, the cars rushing by in the streets, people walking on the pavement. “I think I killed someone.”

Phichit gasped, then, realising he was only unsettling Yuuri further, he exhaled to calm himself.

“Okay.” He nodded, turning towards Yuuri as much was possible on the bench. “Start at the beginning. What did you see?”

“There was…” Yuuri’s brows crinkled in thought, then his eyes widened. “Hungry. For some reason, when I saw those knives, I… I was so hungry, and not just me, my family. All the people around me were hungry.”

Phichitremembered his online research. “There was a famine, Yuuri. We talked about this, remember?”

“No, Phichit.” Yuuri shook his head. “Not from when we talked about this. I was _there_. I was there when the famine happened. I know now.”

“Oh shit. I was wondering about that.” Phichit inhaled and exhaled deeply. It was a scary thought.

“And I stole food. For my family. I couldn’t bear to see them go hungry any longer, Phichit.” Yuuri placed the water bottle on the bench beside him and wrapped his arms around himself, bending over lightly as if he could feel a hollowness in his stomach that hadn’t been there for the longest time.

“So I stole food. From the English guy who was in charge of that place, I think.”

Yuuri looked crestfallen, shocked about what he felt was something he had done for real.

Phichit placed one arm around his shoulder for comfort and reassurance. “Let’s put it in historical context and look at it from there. You were starving, Yuuri, and not just you. You stealing food was a desperate but good thing. You had a family to feed. God knows what I would do in such a situation. I would raise hell and sell my soul probably if I had children I couldn’t feed.”

“They caught me. Oh god, Phichit!” His hands shot up to his face. “For a moment I could see it, that prison cell! It was so cold! And dirty.”

His breath started hitching again, and Phichit held him, wrapped his other arm around him, too. He rubbed warmth into his shoulders in the April sun. It felt bizarre, but he would do it any day for Yuuri, Phichit knew. He would do everything for Yuuri.

“He was disgusting.” One of Yuuri’s hands came up and he wound his arm tight around the arm Phichit had slung across his chest, holding on to the friend who kept him grounded in the here and now. “He… said really nasty things about my wife. He didn’t touch her, but he called her dirty. And he had the ring. The wedding ring I gave her. He threw it at my feet and laughed about it, called it cheap. It was the most precious thing we had. I killed him, Phichit! I took that knife I was hiding in… one of those things wrapped around my arm… I took my knife and slit his throat.”

“Oh my god…” Phichit whispered and held on tight, supporting himself as well as Yuuri.

“I didn’t feel guilt or anything, I just looked at him and felt… like I had done the right thing because he was mocking what I loved the most. And he had no right. What gave him the right, Phichit? The fact that he was English and believed he was somehow superior? We just wanted to live in peace in our own country.”

“History is a bitch, we know that.”

They sat quietly for a while, letting the April sun warm away the cold, cold facts of history.

Phichit lowered one arm when Yuuri eased his grip on it at last. Yuuri’s breathing was ragged, but not panicky, and he reached for the water bottle again when only Phichit’s arm around his shoulder remained.

“That was one hell of a flashback,” Phichit finally muttered for lack of anything else to say.

Yuuri uttered a harsh little laugh. “You can say that again.” He drank the rest of the water left in the bottle, then screwed it shut again and put it back in his backpack, closing the backpack carefully. After a couple of deep breaths, he turned his head to look at Phichit.

“That’s not all.” Yuuri swallowed hard. “I used that knife… Phichit. I think I tried to kill Victor!”

“What!” Phichit jumped up from the bench like stung. He stared at Yuuri, mouth hanging open.

“Was that before or after…” He paused. “You know. Him touching you.”

He had been able to wrestle that compromise out of Yuuri since Sochi. That the blue eyes and pale skin he saw in his flashbacks, the touches and the great love he felt, must have been Victor. It was the only explanation they could come up with for the trust and comfort that Yuuri had felt that night, that had made him spend the night with Victor without his usual nervousness or embarrassment.

Yuuri shook his head. “I don’t know. After, maybe? I don’t seem him fitting in with the picture…”

“If you lost your family and were alone… you might have met him after that?”

“But I was in prison. If I killed an English guy, how would I have been free to meet Victor?”

“Maybe you escaped.” Phichit seemed excited. “Yuuri, you were absolutely badass in your previous life apparently, so maybe you managed that, too, and then met Victor afterwards. Maybe you thought he was going to give you to the authorities and wanted to defend yourself. And instead of killing him you fell in love!”

Yuuri had to smile a little at Phichit’s overexcitement.

“I couldn’t tell you. I’m sorry. It was just a very brief moment in which Victor featured when I looked at that knife…” Suddenly Yuuri turned so pale and still and his eyes widened so much behind his glasses that Phichit quickly sat back down again and wound his arm back around Yuuri’s shoulder, just in case.

“Phichit.” Yuuri took a deep breath. “There’s something about Sochi I didn’t tell you.”

“Okay.” Phichit’s fingers dug a little deeper into Yuuri’s upper arm.

“There was a moment, when… we were in bed.” Yuuri looked straight ahead when he told him, finding that easier than facing his friend. “And I was… leaning over him. And suddenly he reached for that scar on his neck and completely freaked out, pushed me off and jumped out of that bed like I had…”

“Tried to stab him?” Phichit finished quietly for him.

Yuuri nodded slowly. And suddenly panic bit like a rabid dog and his arms clutched his middle tight.

“Shit… shit, Phichit! What if your theory is right and he remembered something at that moment??? What if I hurt him in a previous life and my mind simply refuses to remember because it’s just too terrible to think of??”

“But… Yuuri.” Phichit started running his hand over Yuuri’s back in large, calming circles. “Calm down and think about this. If I’m right and he remembered something - would he have let you stay the night, and slept with you? Twice!” He wriggled his eyebrows and Yuuri blushed. “Would he have done that if he remembered you trying to kill him, even if it was in another life?”

“You’re right. It doesn’t make sense.” Yuuri exhaled, almost relieved. “And even if… why didn’t _I_ remember something? I know I felt like something felt so right about this, but then… I think I want to cling to the hope that this means we should be together in _this_ life, you know? Whatever happened in the past.”

“Fair enough.” Phichit nodded. The movement of his hand over Yuuri’s back stilled. “Perhaps you need different triggers. Other places.”

Yuuri hummed. For a long time they sat and let silence linger between them, enjoyed the calm after the heaviness of memories and soaked up the warmth of spring sunshine and the calming, everyday sounds of a modern city.

Eventually, Yuuri’s stomach rumbled loudly. They started to laugh.

“D’you think you can eat?” Phichit asked.

“When was that ever my problem?” Yuuri pulled a face. For a moment they became serious, then shook off the past and rose from the bench, shouldering their backpacks once more.

“Let’s try this fish and chips place all the travel guides recommend,” Phichit suggested as they set off.

They got fish & chips from the small famous shop without any seating and walked down the street the chipper told them to until they reached the park behind St. Patrick’s Cathedral and perched on another bench, eating and watching groups of tourists coming from the Cathedral to wander around the park.

In the evening they found themselves in another pub, sticking out like sore thumbs with their looks and their polite behaviour, but soon singing along with everyone else as the live band started playing and they joined in with songs Phichit had made them listen to way too many times when he compiled a playlist for their trip.

They stayed by the bar, having secured some of the last remaining seats in the whole house, taking turns in buying the next drink and chatting to the barman, more and more so as the evening progressed.

Yuuri raised a new glass for a toast. “‘ _What’s lost is lost and gone forever_ ’…” he quoted from the song the band was just playing.

“Let’s focus on the good things from now on, okay?” Phichit raised his own glass. “Every sad flashback will be countered with something good!”

Yuuri nodded. Smiled, as they brought their glasses together, and laughed when the foam sloshed over the brim from the impact. They drank, dark eyes flashing in amusement and friendship at each other over beer froth moustaches forming above their mouths.

The next song began, and Phichit felt Yuuri flinch and then freeze on the bar stool beside him. His arm came round Yuuri’s shoulder, the impact of the song even stronger now after what Yuuri had told him earlier that day. Already Yuuri’s eyes were glistening with tears. Phichit shook his head.

“ _Good_ things, Yuuri!” He leaned in to make himself heard over the music. “Let’s focus on the good things!”

They turned in their seats, knees facing the room where the crowd was swaying and singing along.

“Come on, Phichit.” Yuuri smiled through his tears. “Sing my song with me.”

And they did, just two more people with a pint in their hands, blending into the crowd while they swayed arm in arm on their bar seats, pints raised in their other hands and singing along at the top of their voices.

“‘ _Our love was on the wing, we had dreams and songs to sing… It's so lonely round the fields of Athenry._ ’”

~ ~ ~

For their last day in Dublin they had planned shopping. They rolled out of bed late, missing breakfast in the hotel, but the scones and coffee were better in the small coffeeshop opposite their hotel anyway. Several hours and shopping bags later they came by the statue of Molly Malone as they were looking for someplace to have a late lunch.

“Yuuri!” Phichit dropped his shopping unceremoniously. “Photos!”

Yuuri snorted when Phichit began to sing the next moment, having declared ‘Molly Malone’ his favourite Irish song the night before and even talked the live band in the pub to play it a second time as an encore. They had agreed to do so, on the condition that Phichit joined them on stage and sang it with them. A video on Yuuri’s phone bore proof, a little shaky thanks to three pints and Yuuri laughing so hard.

“Yuuri! You need to touch her boobs for good luck!” Phichit hissed. He had hopped onto the pedestal the statue stood on, his hands hovering over a bronze cleavage that was shining from people forever touching it.

“Phichit!” Yuuri flushed crimson. “I’m not doing that!”

While Phichit took a series of selfies with the statue, still quietly singing “…I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone… Alive-alive-oh…”, Yuuri tried to ignore his friend touching Molly Malone’s boobs and set down his shopping bags on the edge of the pedestal for a moment. From one of them, he took the pile of flyers, tickets and receipts which he had dropped in there earlier. He had been collecting them since their arrival, and he was sure there was a restaurant flyer among them that had struck his interest and that he wanted to try before they went out west.

A group of Spanish tourists was beginning to crowd around the statue, impatiently waiting for their turn to take pictures with it, and Yuuri hurriedly gathered the papers in his hands and stuffed them back into the shopping bag. He never noticed the flat, empty gum wrapper that had been hidden between the flyers and receipts and fell down on the pedestal. A gust of wind picked it up and carried it from behind the spokes in the bronze cart wheel between the folds of Molly Malone’s skirts where it caught underneath, half hidden out of sight.

Yuuri quickly exchanged places with Phichit to have his picture taken, smiling into Phichit’s camera and making the typical Japanese V sign with both hands.

Just before he turned to go, and while Phichit was already gathering up their shopping, Yuuri quickly rubbed his hand over one shiny bronze breast just in case, much to the amusement of the Spanish group.

“What?” Phichit swung around at their laughter, raising one eyebrow at Yuuri and his embarrassed smirk. “Did you touch her boobs and not let me take a picture, Yuuri Katsuki?!” He tried to look wounded.

“Let’s go find something to eat,” Yuuri changed the subject and steered him away. “I’m hungry!”

~ ~ ~

The smell of old books was not one Christophe Giacometti was particularly fond of. He crinkled his nose, not for the first time, as he stepped up to Victor’s side. Victor had been looking at ancient books behind glass for almost an hour with an interest that Chris found not human but rather demonic and existing merely to torture him. He sighed for good measure, well noting the smile pursing Victor’s lips.

“I swear to god, next time I go on holiday with you I’ll enjoy the spa facilities in the hotel until I join you for a drink in the evening. You Russians and your bloody thirst for culture.”

Victor laughed quietly. “I used to come here. Whenever I came up to Dublin, I liked to spend some time here, surrounded by all these books. Although Yuuri didn’t complain half as much as you are. He loved books just as much as I did.”

“As you _do_ ,” Chris corrected, his mood lifting whenever he saw Victor happy.

“Let’s go,” Victor relented and they slowly made their way to the exit of the Old Library of Trinity College.

Chris heaved another sigh when Victor stopped short in the gift shop. But Victor didn’t hear him. He stared at the oval marble for the longest time, an expression of such longing and sadness on his face that Chris didn’t dare approach him for fear of Victor’s heart shattering into a million pieces right there and then.

It wasn’t until they left the check-out behind them that Chris spoke again.

“All those beautiful prints of pages from your beloved old books and _this_ is what you buy?”

“It means something.” Victor smiled. He threw the small carton into the nearest bin and slipped the worry stone into his coat pocket.

“Come on.” He placed one arm around Chris’ shoulder. “Let me buy you a drink for humouring me.”

They passed the statue of Molly Malone on their way to a pub in the city centre they had read great reviews about and stopped to take pictures.

“Chris, please do me a favour and do not fondle this statue’s tits!” Victor rolled his eyes as Chris jumped up on the pedestal and tried all kinds of angles to have his picture taken with the statue, placing one arm around her waist and leaning in to kiss her bronze cheeks.

“Victor!” Chris shot him a shocked glance. “What the hell do you take me for?”

“You don’t really want to know,” Victor muttered as he raised his phone with the camera, turned it horizontally and back in his hands to find the right angle.

The moment he took the picture, Chris quickly moved his head and buried his face between the shining bronze globes of the statue’s breasts.

“You... _ass_!” Laughing, Victor lowered the phone and crossed the small distance to the statue, having decided that he wanted to have his picture taken sitting down on the pedestal with the statue in his back. Just as he was about to sit down something light blue caught his attention, like a small slip of paper stuck half under the skirts of Molly Malone. Victor reached for it, frowning a little about what he suspected to be littering. He didn’t know why he actually looked at the flat piece of cardboard but the writing on in made him freeze. Japanese writing. He was well familiar with it by now.

Victor sat down on the pedestal, tried to gulp down the lump he suddenly felt stuck in his throat.

It’s a coincidence, his head told him, it doesn’t mean anything.

There’s no such thing as coincidence, his heart told him, it’s a sign.

“Victor!”

He looked up from where he still held the Japanese wrapping paper in his lap. Rationally he knew that there could be a million people who had dropped this gum wrapper here, but irrationally he was trying to remember whether he had ever seen Yuuri chewing gum. If Yuuri had been _here_ and he had just missed him.

Chris was waving his phone about impatiently. “Is this how you want your picture taken?”

Victor shook his head. He slipped the wrapping paper into this coat pocket with the worry stone, crossed one leg over the other and propped one elbow up on his knee. Face in his palm, he smiled into the camera. He didn’t even notice that in his pocket, he was rubbing the hollow of the smooth marble worry stone unconsciously with his thumb.

The pub was well frequented already in the late afternoon. They managed to find the last two free seats by the bar and climbed up, arms resting on the polished wooden surface. The barman was the chatty type, asking them where they were from and how they were liking Dublin while he drew their pints.

“Seems quite popular with tourists,” Chris remarked and motioned behind him, where the tables were heaving with customers, most of them talking in all kinds of languages, even the English noticeably not local.

The barman nodded as he slipped two pints of Cider towards them and thanked Victor for the money and generous tip. “We’re in a lucky spot. Most of the tourists come by here on their shopping and sightseeing. They’re a good crowd. We get to meet so many interesting people.”

Chris nudged Victor and pointed to a row of potato chips hanging on a side of the whiskey shelf in the back of the barman. “Be a good sport and get me some of those, will you? All culture and no food makes a man hungry.”

Victor laughed and asked the barman for two bags of Irish crisps and the food menu.

“We had two Asians in here last night,” the barman said as he handed them the menus, still on about the tourists. “A Japanese and a Thai, you wouldn’t believe how polite they remained even as they got absolutely smashed and sang along with the band for hours.”

Victor and Chris looked at each other, Victor’s eyes wide with surprise.

“Bingo!” Chris remarked quietly.

It was still light outside when they left the pub. People were milling about on every side of the street, the roads heaving with traffic. The air had become chillier now that the sun was waning, and they stopped for a moment outside the pub to button their coats, stepping out of the way of shoppers and the pub customers who had come outside to smoke.

The signboard was easy to miss, an old-fashioned wooden stand-up with an arrow pointing towards a wooden door in the building right next to the pub.

_Victorian Family Portraits 1840-1900. A Photographic Journey._

Victor found himself lingering in front of the sign for the longest moment, wondering why it would give him such a strange tingle at the back of his neck and spine. Why it felt like it was calling to him. He looked at the opening hours. They were open for at least two more hours, and he looked up, determined. Before he could say anything, Chris started groaning beside him like a man in great pain.

“No, Victor! Noooo! I’m all cultured out for one day. You’ll make a cultivated man out of me yet.”

“Come on, Chris.” Victor turned his sweetest smile and pout on him. “Just a quick stroll through. It looks like a private exhibition, we’ll probably be done in no time.”

Chris pushed out his bottom lip like a child about to cry.

“Your previous life self would be appalled at letting a photographic exhibition slide.” Victor grinned.

A massive sigh ensued. Victor smiled as he already walked towards the entrance door of the house.

“You owe me at least two more pints for this,” Chris lamented as he followed slowly.

“Sure.” Satisfied, Victor gave him a pat on the arm. He couldn’t have explained why he felt such a pull, such an urgent need to see this exhibition. Photography wasn’t that high up on his list of preferred fine arts. And yet, as he paid admittance for two and they walked up a carpeted staircase to the gallery of what seemed to be a lavish townhouse of some forgotten aristocracy, he couldn’t shake a feeling of premonition.

The rooms on the top floor had been cleared of furniture, and framed portraits were displayed on the walls throughout. Some of them had long glass cases set up in the centre, displaying smaller pictures and lockets opened to display tiny photographs. Victor guessed that the house was often rented out for this purpose. A house this size right in the heart of Dublin must be a nuisance to keep up for any modern owner, so any sort of extra income would be more than welcome.

Chris walked from room to room, hoping he could make Victor hurry up a little by moving along faster. He had to smile when he spotted a display of young men modelling fashion of the time and moved in on the frames on the opposite wall.

“Chris.”

Something in Victor’s voice made the hair in the back of Chris’ neck stand up. He turned very slowly to where his friend was currently looking at a picture frame.

The sepia portrait of the woman with the child in her lap knocked the air out of Chris’ lungs, but what stunned him even more was the frozen expression on Victor’s face as he looked at the portrait.

“Victor…” Chris stepped closer, his voice very quiet. “Is this…”

Victor nodded. One of his hands came up, hovering in the air over the plump cheek of the child in the picture like he wanted to caress it. His voice was broken with emotion.

“And my little Sascha.”

Chris felt like he couldn’t breathe as he stared at the small tag beside the portrait. He read the words, and he understood them, but the impact was too big for him to grasp.

_Lady Helen Lovelace with son Alexander Francis Walter Giacometti, 7th Earl of Lovelace. London, ca. 1850._

“Victor!” Chris whispered agitatedly. “This was…”

Victor nodded, a smile beginning to form on his face as he watched his friend lean in to study the woman in the picture, her heart-shaped face and cheerful smile, the obviously blond curls tumbling unruly around her face and shoulders, the dress that hinted at generous curves with just the bit of cleavage it showed, so very uncommon in a Victorian woman. The child in her lap was the most perfect little angel, the shine in his cheeks almost visible even in sepia. Soft blond hair curled around his face, his lips were plump, his eyes large and round.

“Blue.” He heard Victor’s voice like from a great distance. “His eyes were blue. Like hers.”

Something ached deep down inside him, and Chris couldn’t have said why.

“Beautiful picture, isn’t it?”

They flinched and swung around. The older man they had seen watch over the few visitors perusing the exhibition had come up unnoticed.

“Very,” Chris managed to say. His voice was low and husky.

Victor merely smiled.

The man moved two more steps closer. He had the aura of those older people who were eager to share their knowledge with the younger generation.

“The earldom of Lovelace ceased to exist in the late 19th century, unfortunately, but the family still has descendants, here in Dublin, as a matter of fact. The family was always very interested in photography, they were so kind as to provide a lot of these portraits from their private collection for this exhibition.”

Victor nudged Chris excitedly in the side at the mention of photography.

“Do you know if they…” Chris cleared his throat.

He felt scrutinised when the man looked at him for a long moment, then at the picture on the wall. His eyes darted back and forth between Chris and the portrait a couple of times. A frown crinkled his brow.

“I could make a quick phone call for you if you like.”

Without waiting for an answer he walked over to a telephone at the wall next to the door, one of those old-fashioned appliances that had popped up in the 1980s.

“Ah, Aidan, hello.” He nodded at Chris and Victor encouragingly. “Didn’t I just know I would still catch you in the office? Listen, I have a Mr…”

He paused and cast Chris an expectant look. He didn’t cover the mouthpiece, just held the receiver away from his face.

“Giacometti,” Chris said. He could barely hear his own voice over the pounding of the blood in his ears.

The man stilled, receiver mid-air. Then he smiled the biggest, positively euphoric smile when he brought the telephone receiver back to his ear.

“I have a Mr _Giacometti_ here. He’s an interest in the portrait of the Lady Helen and her little bumpkin.”

Five minutes later he handed Chris a note with a name and an address in Malahide with a most cheeky wink.

“Her great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandson would be very happy to meet you.”

~ ~ ~

Phichit noticed Yuuri’s agitation the further west they went. They had checked out of their hotel in the morning and picked up their rental car, Yuuri trying to get the navigation to work while Phichit carefully wove his way through the city, looking out for the signs for the M6. Once they left Dublin behind, Phichit relaxed, and that’s when he noticed Yuuri’s tension rising. He didn’t say anything, but he switched the radio on, letting music fill the inside of the car while he drove steadily westwards and Yuuri looked out the window, soaking up the landscape.

“Wow!” Yuuri gaped, while beside him Phichit exclaimed an excited “Oh my god!” when they pulled up outside the Bed&Breakfast where they had rented a room in Athenry. It was a beautifully restored manor house surrounded by greens and more greens. They had fallen in love with the pictures on the website, and when they had learned that the rooms were named after trees and there was an Ash Room, they booked this, remembering what Yuuri had told Phichit after the Irish dancing performance they had seen.

“Here we are. Right in the fields of Athenry.” Phichit undid his seatbelt and turned to Yuuri. “Are you okay?”

Yuuri was very pale, and very quiet.

“Yuuri?” Suddenly nervous, Phichit started chewing on his bottom lip. “How are you feeling?”

Yuuri smiled. He had to swallow about a ton of emotions clogging his throat.

“Home,” he said quietly. “I feel at home, Phichit.”

The owner of the B&B came out of the house at this moment to welcome them, and they opened the car doors and got out. Half an hour later the car was parked, they had checked in and drunk a welcome cup of tea and eaten scones in a cozy lounge room that had a fire going in the fireplace, and were seen to their room personally by the owner. She went through the breakfast options with them, talking in that soft, rounded musical lilt of the Irish west coast, and they made sure to let her know that they would rather not have the black and white pudding in their cooked breakfast.

The moment the door closed behind her, Phichit swung round to face Yuuri.

“Oh my god, Yuuri, did _you_ talk like this?”

By the balcony door, Yuuri shrugged, a sheepish smile on his face.

“God!” Phichit clutched his heart. “This accent is so cute! I’m living!”

He threw himself on the double bed with a happy sigh.

They had a nap before they explored the small town a little, Yuuri pensive as he looked around, Phichit attentive to his every mood. It had been a mutual decision to not try and find the river until the next day. None of them knew what might happen, and they wanted to be well rested for whatever came their way. They went to eat in the Old Barracks Restaurant, a late afternoon meal that would serve as dinner for being so rich and so delicious. Afterwards they bought a six pack of beer in a supermarket and walked back to their B&B, amazed that they were greeted by locals they encountered as if they weren’t foreigners.

Somewhere in the vast green lands near their B&B they paused to sit on one of the low walls dividing the countless fields. They took a lot of pictures and opened the first bottle of beer, talking about everything under the sun while they just looked out into the endless green and let the quiet seep into their bones.

“I’m glad we came here,” Yuuri mused, beer bottle in one hand, eyes on the small figure of someone walking their dog between the fields in the distance. “I didn’t think that any other place in the world could make me feel the same as Hasetsu does, but…”

Phichit smiled. “I’m glad we came, too. Glad we got to travel together before you… go back.”

“Phichit.” Yuuri turned to face him. “I never thanked you for… for everything. For believing me and taking me serious, and for coming all the way here with me. Without you I would probably still think I was crazy.”

“It’s been fun, too.” Phichit winked at him. Then he became serious. “Don’t you dare think you can just go missing once you’re back in Japan. Even if you really quit figure skating. Which I still hope you won’t because you are way too good and way too young for that. You still have a great future ahead of you, Yuuri, and I want to be there for it, cheering you on from the front row.”

Yuuri smiled, but it hurt in the corners of his mouth. The truth was, he wanted that too. He wanted to be at competitions, especially now that Phichit had improved so much that he had a real chance to qualify for the big contests. He just didn’t have the slightest idea where the motivation, the confidence was supposed to come from again after his disastrous season. He still felt like such a failure.

They opened the second bottle of beer. The man with his dog had come up by now and greeted them with a nod and a friendly “Good evening!” as he passed them by, completely unfazed by the fact to find two Asian tourists sitting on a wall in the countryside and drinking beer in the sunset. They returned the greeting, and Yuuri looked at the dog for a long moment with an aching pang in his heart as he curiously sniffed their legs.

“You know one thing I really hate about all my flashbacks?” Yuuri asked quietly once the man had walked on.

“Hm?” Phichit knocked his bottle against Yuuri’s as a toast.

Yuuri took a healthy gulp before he spoke again. “The fact that _you’re_ not in them.”

Their heads turned and they looked at each other.

“Yuuri…” Phichit smiled, but it looked shaky, and his eyes seemed treacherously moist.

“I hate the fact that I seem to have had a whole other life and no best friend in it. No Phichit.” Yuuri looked agitated as he gesticulated wildly with his beer bottle. “Because having a friend like you is just… one of the best things that ever happened to me. And it makes me so sad that… that other me, didn’t have one.”

“Yuuri…” Phichit took a deep breath of evening air, then a deep gulp from his bottle. As if for courage.

Yuuri felt reminded of the weeks and months in which he hadn’t told Phichit the whole truth about that night in Sochi. How he had left out the part about Victor clutching his neck. For some reason Phichit’s expression reminded him of how he himself had felt carrying that secret around with him.

“Do you remember how we were in China for that Asian skating competition and Guang Hong showed us round the city and there was this festival and we went into that fortune teller’s tent for laughs?”

Phichit swallowed. “Here’s something _I_ didn’t tell _you_. And I asked Guang Hong to never talk about this either because it freaked me out for a long time. You know how we didn’t take this seriously, and all the things she said were like those standard phrases that are so universal you have a good shot with most people to hit the truth. But… she asked me about my siblings.”

Yuuri frowned. “You don’t have any siblings.”

“I know. That’s what I had Guang Hong tell her.” Phichit swallowed hard. “And she asked: ‘What about the one who wasn’t born?’ Both Guang Hong and I really got freaked out then and left quickly but… he insisted he translated it absolutely correctly, that’s what she said, and you know Guang Hong, he wouldn’t lie.”

Yuuri nodded.

“It wouldn’t stop bugging me, so the next time I visited home I asked my parents. And they froze, and went all pale and… panicky. They exchanged about a million looks between them, and then finally, my father asked me, Who told you?” Phichit took a deep breath, while his fingers were nervously peeling off small bits of the label on his beer bottle.

“It turns out I would have had an older brother. My mother lost a child before I was born. They never told me. It was very far along in the pregnancy, that’s how they knew it was a boy. And that old lady in China, she knew! Can you imagine how freaked out I was?”

“Oh, I can imagine that alright.” Yuuri laughed a little, affectionately.

“I started reading up on stuff and one of the things that I found was that… some people believe that when you are meant to have a person in your life, you will. I was meant to have a brother but he was never born, and according to that belief, that energy, that _soul_ … will manifest in someone else. Some way or another, that person was meant to be in my life.So I may not have an older brother by maybe that person is someone else in my life, you know. Someone who is as close and important to me.”

He raised his beer bottle half-heartedly. “I wouldn’t be talking about this if I wasn’t on my second one of this.”

Yuuri smirked with approval. They were both past their point of keeping in truths that were better left unsaid because they were ridiculous or embarrassing.

“I like to believe that this person is _you_ , Yuuri.”

“Phichit-kun…” Yuuri breathed the word more than he said it, and his eyes filled with tears. He slid off the wall and placed his beer unceremoniously on top before he crossed the small distance between them and engulfed Phichit in a massive bear hug that was enforced by alcohol and emotions.

“So maybe I wasn’t your best friend back then, just someone else and you simply don’t remember…” Phichit muttered against his ear as he hugged Yuuri back.

“And even if you didn’t have me then…” Phichit mused when Yuuri let go and sat back down on the wall beside him. “You have me now, and you will have me in every other life to come if that’s how it works, and that’s a comforting thought, isn’t it?”

They sat in silence for a while after that watching the stunning colours of Ireland’s skies, just them and their beer and a whole lot of emotions.

When they were down to their last bottles, the beer making them more emotional than they already were, Phichit looked at Yuuri like he had just been struck by a brilliant idea.

“Yuuri! What if I was your wife??”

Yuuri looked at him for a long moment. Then he burst out laughing.

“Phichit, you weren’t my wife!” He laughed so hard that tears ran from his eyes. “I hope!”

“We don’t know that. I might have been your wife!” Phichit declared, determinedly.

“She died, remember? I don’t want to think of any universe in which you die, not even if you were my wife.”

“For Victor,” Phichit said softly. “She died so you could be with Victor.”

“I don’t want anyone having to die so I can be with Victor!”

“I know you don’t, Yuuri, but it’s not like there’s anything you can do about that now, because it happened, and it happened a long time ago, and then you found love again, and you got to be with Victor, so what if this whole cycle is coming round again now but instead of a wife in this life you have a Phichit, and you are still meant to be with Victor???”

“All this makes no sense at all, Phichit, what are we even talking about??”

“I! DON’T! KNOW!”

They stared at each other, seconds, a minute, drink and feels colouring their faces confused.

“We should probably go,” Phichit finally said.

“Yes.” Yuuri hopped off the wall. “Do we still have chips in our room?”

“Several bags.”

“Thank god.”

They meticulously collected all the bottles, caps, and the cardboard carrier the beer had come in to dispose properly of them as soon as they were able to and set out to walk back to their B&B through the fields before it became too dark for them to find their way.

~ ~ ~

The next morning was bright and sunny. They left the house after breakfast, unable to stop raving about how stuffed they were with a full Irish breakfast and scones and tea, and how delicious it all had been. Luscious green stretched out before them and they just walked, eager to explore the area on foot and walk off some of the calories they had been indulging in and that would have sent Celestino and their dieticians into cardiac arrest for sure. It felt good to move, they both agreed, since they were normally so active, keeping in shape and practising and, of course, skating.

Coming here had been a random guess, born one night when they thought that the song was as good a place to explore as any. But something about this place made Yuuri feel so peaceful, he quietly remarked to Phichit, that he almost regretted not having come here before.

The grass was dancing to the tune of the wind. Lonely sheep clouds trawled here and there across a vast light blue sky. Sunlight kissed the countless shades of green as far as the eye could see, licking up every trace of the downpour that had washed the land clean not too long ago.

An hour passed without them encountering any other people. And there really wasn’t anything to see, just grass and stones grown over with moss. To their left, the river glistened peacefully in the sun.

“So lonely round the fields of Athenry alright,” Phichit commented, and Yuuri chuckled quietly.

They followed another bend in the river, and a low withered wall rose before them.

Yuuri stopped unexpectedly.

“I’ve been here before.”

Phichit had to repress a wince when he felt Yuuri’s fingers digging suddenly into his arm.

“This is it, Phichit! I’ve been here before!”

Both of them were staring at the rectangular tower of the castle suddenly looming before them.

“Yuuri…” Phichit’s voice was almost a whisper. His hand was shaking when he raised it to point to the left.

Yuuri inhaled sharply when he saw the patch of flowers by a bend in the river. The ash tree embracing a vast area in its shade. The Celtic cross rising like a guardian to keep this place sacred, keep it safe. A sob caught in his throat and he released Phichit’s arm from his grip. Took the first tentative steps.

“Phichit!”

“Yuuri?”

“This is it, this is the place.... oh god. My _heart_!” He clutched the front of his chest, hand fisting in his shirt.

Phichit made an ‘Oh shit, this is happening!’ face.

“I have to…” Yuuri looked more unsettled than Phichit had ever seen him.

“Do you need me to breathe with you?” Phichit asked, trying to stay calm while he was nearly combusting with nerves. He hadn’t counted in the fact that Yuuri might have a panic attack. _Why_ _hadn’t_ he??

Yuuri shook his head. He didn’t even look at Phichit, only at the river.

“Go.” Phichit gave him a pat between then shoulder blades for encouragement. “I’ll be here waiting. Take your time. Take as long as you need.”

Yuuri didn’t even seem to hear him anymore. Phichit watched him walk away for a moment, before he whipped out his phone and sent a quick _Oh shit, this is happening!_ text message.

Yuuri was almost running by the time he reached the river’s edge. For a moment he had believed he saw the graceful shape of a dancer, but it had only been a trick the sun played with the reflection on the water. He stopped short, hands reaching into nothing, while something seemed to hum inside him, getting louder.

The memories hit him with a vengeance, so overwhelming he saw white before his eyes for a split second and thought he was going to pass out. Yuuri dropped to his knees.

Breaths and sobs shook his chest alternately. He couldn’t tell one from the other. Bending down, he watched his hands clutch clots of earth from between the flowers. He dug deeper, brought whole handfuls up to his face and closed his eyes as he breathed in the damp, musty smell of earth. His land. His.

He straightened his back and let the earth slide softly from his hands as he raised his eyes to the cross above him. The carvings were withered, and he felt a sudden frenzied rush to free them, a sudden fear they could not be under the patina that had settled over far too many years.

Yuuri looked on the ground before him, started to dig frantically again between the flowers with his bare hands until he found a stone that seemed flat and pointed enough. He scrambled to his feet and began to clean the film of dirt and moss with the sharp edge of the stone as fast as he could, his heart hammering like crazy in his chest. Bit by bit the lines became visible, every part he brought to light became carved into his very heart all over again like they were into this stone. Panting heavily when he was done, he dropped the rock and held on to the cross with one hand for support because his legs were trembling. He leaned his forehead against the cold stone, traced the letters with trembling fingers.

Two names were carved into the stone.

Máire.

Emer.

Mine, Yuuri thought, his heart breaking in his chest. You were mine. I couldn’t protect you.

Not from the hunger.

Sliding down to his knees, he felt it biting his insides like a multi-headed viper. He doubled over and clutched his stomach with both arms, almost feeling the soft chubbiness of his well-filled holiday stomach give way for the nauseous emptiness of yet another day without a meal to fill his belly because he gave his meagre supplies to those who needed it much more then he did.

_“Seoirse.”_

Yuuri’s head whipped up but there was nobody, only the echo of her voice, sweet like fairy’s laughter.

“Máire…” He felt the warmth of her sea blue eyes on him when he said her name, and he smiled through his tears. Words came to his mind and over his lips, forgotten words in a forbidden language. “Tá brón orm.”

_There is sadness on me._ He almost smiled again. What a poetic way to say “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry I was too late.” He sobbed the words more than he spoke them.

_Sweat was dripping from his body, his shirt clung soaking to his back. He watched, rigid, unmoved, watched himself bury all his dreams and his future by the river’s edge where they had loved to dance._

_Rain began to fall and he raised his face to the crying skies and screamed. He screamed out his pain, and his loss, and his anger, and his hatred, and his desperate need for revenge._

_He didn’t stay to see them put up the cross. His love was encapsulated in the wedding band he wore on a simple leather band around his neck, eternal as the ring and the pattern engraved in the gold. Jolting against his chest under his shirt in the rocky carriage, reminding him of his love with every touch of cool metal against his heart._

Yuuri gasped. Suddenly he was back in Sochi. Felt the touch of metal against his chest, looked down on himself for a ring that wasn’t there. He clenched his fingers, opened and closed his fists a couple of times to fight down the need to start digging up the ground before him until he found it. He wouldn’t find it, he knew, not after all this time. It was safe here, it belonged here.

It was merely his body remembering, he knew. His lips remembered the cool touch of gold when he placed a kiss onto the ring. His tongue remembered the prayer whispered in the old, forbidden language. His hands remembered the feel of the earth as he heaped it on top of it and patted it down until it was firm and even.

Her eyes were so clear before him for a moment. The love in them so true. And then the eyes changed, but the love in them stayed true. The breath he fought into his lungs was hitched. He knew those eyes so well.

He had known love since the moment he first looked into those eyes.

_The candle light was dim. He shouldn’t be writing in it, he knew. He would ruin his eyes._

_He lowered the pen and picked up the oval stone of green marble instead, flat on one side, concave on the other. His thumb moved into the hollow with calming, familiar motions while he watched the ink dry on his words._

This is a Worry Stone.

Rub the hollow with your thumb and the marble will absorb your worries.

_Cautiously, Yuuri looked around to make sure he was alone._

_If Minako ever found out what he had written and included in this letter, she would whack him across the ears, and with good reason. He wasn’t meant to be sincere. It wasn’t part of the plan._

The feeling was overpowering. Yuuri bent down so low that his forehead touched the grass as he murmured apologies, breathless rambling in a weird mix of English and Japanese. He had let people down, in any life he could remember.

_His moan sounded strange to his own ears, but he couldn’t help voicing the acute pleasure he felt. The sensation of being filled so deliciously drove him crazy. How could he have lived without this for so long? The sudden guilt was like an onslaught whipping him from the inside out. There was only one way to punish himself. He forced his eyes open and smiled at Victor, as cold as the blade of the knife he had tried to kill him with._

_“Fuck me harder, Lord Nikiforov! After all, is this not what you people do best? Conquering and ruling? Using what we have to give? Showing the clueless Irish what is good for them?”_

_Neither the rage his words brought about nor his own shame could drown out the sound of his own voice crying out Victor’s name like it was his path to salvation, or the way he clung to Victor like a drowning man._

Yuuri shot up, trying to fight the stirrings below his belt, chest heaving with frantic breaths until he felt calmer. It wasn’t easy. He was back in Sochi again, relived the past and present and felt incomplete. In Sochi, Yuuri hadn’t recognised him, but his body had remembered.

Warm. Yuuri felt so warm. He felt treasured. Loved, even.

He had come back to him, found him again across the centuries, long silver hair and the smile of a lifetime reaching out across a TV screen and Yuuri, twelve-year-old Yuuri, had seen him and not recognised. He had looked at him from countless posters in two different rooms at opposite ends of the world, and Yuuri, anxious, eager Yuuri, had taken his grace and inspiration and strength from him and not recognised. He had found him again at the Grand Prix Final and Yuuri, strangely confident Yuuri, had loved his love but not recognised. All this time that Yuuri had felt lost, he had been found already.

_Yuuri found Victor in the library. He was sitting in one of the armchairs, a wad of paper spread across his lap. Letters, Yuuri realised, and felt his heart speed up._ His _letters. Victor was reading Yuuri’s letters. The hand that was not holding a sheet of paper was propped up on the armrest. And Yuuri felt his stomach plummet when he saw that in the hand propped up on the armrest, Victor held a very familiar looking oval stone of green Connemara marble, absentmindedly rubbing the hollow with his thumb._

__

_“They were badly written words on purpose.”_

__

_Victor looked up when he heard Yuuri’s voice from the doorway._

__

_“But they were never untrue.”_

_Victor went very still. Yuuri barely registered it, for he was already moving, crossing the distance from the door to the armchair in a couple of determined strides. He sank to his knees in front of Victor and reached for his hands, regardless that the gesture sent his letters carelessly to the floor._

_“Victor.” Yuuri saw the tears in Victor’s eyes that he felt rising to his own. “Forgive me. I have made you wait so long… but I need you to know. I want the freedom, and the protection of your name. But more than that, more than anything… I want your love. If you still want me.”_

_“My love.” Victor squeezed his hands tight where their fingers were laced together. “I will always want you.”_

_Yuuri rested his head in Victor’s lap for a long time after they kissed, giving himself over to the tenderness he craved, the soothing feeling of Victor’s fingers running through his hair. His eyes were closed, forgotten tears of relief still clinging to his lashes when he opened them again, the pile of paper in the small space between Victor’s thigh and the side of the armchair catching his interest as he regained focus._

_“These are not my letters.” Yuuri lifted his head and reached for some papers he had not seen from the door. They looked like maps. They looked familiar. It was land. A lot of land, almost the whole west of Ireland. It was all the land that belonged to the both of them._

_Victor followed Yuuri’s gaze. His voice, when he spoke, was laced with emotion. His hands ran through Yuuri’s hair like caresses._

_“I have been thinking over the past couple of months. About the amends I am able to make. How to right the wrongs my mother has done. And I always come back to one thought: there is not much I can do from here. I should be there. I_ want _to be there. And I have been thinking that perhaps_ you _want to be there, too. That perhaps you want to go home.”_

_Home. Yuuri felt the weight of the word on his mind, his tongue, his heart. He looked up at Victor, and he could see him there. He could see them there together. It had been so long, he thought. He could hear it calling, every single one of his lonely nights. It was calling out to him, to his soul. He was ready._

_“I would like to go home.” Much to his own surprise, a smile worked its way onto his face as he looked up at Victor._

_“Yuuri…” Victor’s hand in his hair stilled. His other hand cupped Yuuri’s face. He looked forlorn, and hopeful. “Please can I come home with you?”_

Yuuri cried for a long, long time. Kneeling in the grass and hugging himself tight, he cried for the life he had lost and for the love he had buried here under this tree. He cried for the mistakes he had made, and for all the missed opportunities. He cried because old memories crushed him and new memories squeezed his heart painfully in his chest. He cried for the love he had been given not too far from here and the happiness he had been allowed to feel again.

He cried for the love he had held in his hands six months ago and not remembered.

Victor, Yuuri thought. You, too, were mine. You protected me.

He cried until his tears ran dry and his thoughts became memories. Memories of a new life. Laughter. Happiness. Books read together by candlelight. A hand in his that he knew would never let go as long as they lived. Poodles chasing each other as they walked through green fields. Love made in front of a fire. A smile that became wide and heart-shaped at the sight of him. A voice calling his name like love.

Yuuri hugged the feelings to his heart, let them seep under his skin, just memories and years and Victor.

Victor.

_Victor_.

Was the hope in his life.

Was the beat of his heart.

Was the song of his soul.

Yuuri scrambled to his feet. Looking down at himself he started patting his legs automatically to get some of the dirt off. He picked up all the soggy tissues he had thrown in the grass and stuffed them carelessly into his coat pocket, trying not to think about how much it grossed him out. His mind was reeling. He didn’t know what to do first. Phichit. He had to tell Phichit. Phichit had to reach out to as many people as he could. Yuuri needed that number, he needed to get in touch, he _needed_.

Yuuri swung round, ready to call out to Phichit, ready to run.

He froze in place where he stood.

All the words got stuck in his throat.

Standing a small distance away from him, yet close enough for Yuuri to see the tears on pale cheeks, watching, waiting, was Victor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wonderful Solnyshko_UK has captured the moment that sparked off this whole story in a gorgeous fan art - have a look here for [the scene that is at the heart of this story](https://twitter.com/jamanna77/status/1294011798723743745?s=21). Thank you so much, my dearest. I feel so blessed to have inspired you, and I love this (and you) with all my heart. ❤️


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot believe this has taken me so long! I'm so sorry! Real life was taking over, and to be honest, I did not expect this story to take me for such a ride. I thought this would be a cute little soulmate AU of maximum two chapters. However. It's like these boys ganged up on me and decided: "Our story fell short to that rent boy in Regency Week, but NOW we can SHINE!!!" At some point I gave up on trying to have any control over word count. If you know me a little you know that my chapters tend to end up much longer than a chapter probably has a right to be, but. I wanted to tell this story in the best way I possibly can. I hope it worked. 
> 
> As some of you have already noticed, the characters in this fic are those of one of my Regency week stories - ["Dreams and Songs to Sing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24032623/chapters/57824422). If you want to know their back story in greater detail, this is the place to go. 
> 
> The wonderful Solnyshko_UK drew the most beautiful fan art for this story - please have a look at it [here](https://twitter.com/jamanna77/status/1271510867725729792?s=21) and leave her some love. Thank you so much for this, darling! 💖
> 
> Warning: this is not just canon divergence, this is canon jumble! I took a lot of liberties for the purpose of this story. It is, after all, AU. 
> 
> Last but not least...
> 
> A massive heartfelt thank you to the sweet people who patiently endured all my rambling and moaning and the obscene amount of previews and snippets from this chapter I threw at them. Sol and Bunny especially for cheering me on tremendously over the past fortnight, Franzi who was present at the birth of this fic too. Everyone who was waiting so patiently for the continuation of this - I'm sorry it took so long, and I hope I'm not letting you down. xxx

~ Home ~

_When the dawn seemed forever lost_

_You showed me your love in the light of the stars_

_Cast your eyes on the ocean_

_Cast your soul to the sea_

_When the dark night seems endless_

_Please remember me_

~ Athenry, Ireland ~

Yuuri ran.

The distance was not enough to ease the pain in his legs from kneeling on the ground for so long, but it was enough to melt centuries down to six months down to nothing when his body crashed into Victor with such force that only the arms that caught him and a firm step back absorbing the impact prevented them from toppling over.

Yuuri cried.

He buried his face in the curve of Victor’s neck, seeking the scar he now remembered having put there, and made a mental note to apologise later for the stains his heart-wrenching, ugly sobs were bound to leave there on the collar of Victor’s expensive coat. The yearning of many years fell away at this moment as everything fell into place. It didn’t help, not one bit, that from the trembling of the body he clung to so desperately and from the ragged sobs he could make out close to his ear he knew that Victor was crying, too.

“I’m so sorry I made you wait so long!”

Yuuri didn’t want to but he pried himself free, just enough so that he could see Victor’s face, just as far as the firm grasp of Victor’s embrace allowed him. Laughing and crying at the same time now, he sounded bubbly and eager, even to himself. He reached up to Victor’s face with trembling fingers, caressed the marble skin and prominent jawline he had been admiring on posters for so long and suddenly felt he hadn’t given enough attention in Sochi all those months back.

Their foreheads almost knocked together, heat seeping from skin to skin, and vision becoming blurry from tears and closeness, and yet, it still didn’t feel close enough.

“It doesn’t matter. You remember now, Yuuri.” Victor’s voice was fizzing with sentiment, and a smile stretched his features while his blue eyes were still swimming with tears. “ _My_ Yuuri!”

The words tumbled over his lips like a newborn river from a spring, fresh and clear and full of beginnings. His arms, still holding on to Yuuri’s waist, clutched him to his body so perfectly as if someone had poured their shapes from two incomplete moulds that created one seamless whole when joined together. One of his hands came up to grab Yuuri’s fingers from his cheeks and bring them to his mouth. Yuuri blushed when he saw that his knuckles were scraped and still a little dirty from where he had dug up the earth with his bare hands, but Victor’s grip on his hand was firm, much like he wouldn’t have it any other way than Yuuri’s hands bearing the trace of the home ground he loved so well. The gaze from sea blue eyes above their hands was soothing before his eyes fell shut, the kiss Victor placed on Yuuri’s fingers a renewed promise from a long time ago.

Victor opened his eyes. He still held Yuuri’s hand in an iron grasp. His voice, when he spoke, was husky, spiked with too many emotions, but there was a flicker of solemnity flaring up in his eyes that made Yuuri’s stomach plummet with premonition. Never, he knew that now, had Victor held his hand to his lips and looked at him like this and _not_ said anything that would not knock the air from his lungs and his legs out from underneath him.

“Tá mé i ngré leat.”

There, Yuuri thought. Just four syllables, and he felt his knees turn to water. And then Victor said more, and Yuuri realised that he hadn’t heard nothing yet.

“Я люблю тебя.”

Yuuri drew in a sharp breath. Nearly twelve years of recording countless interviews and trying to puzzle sound files together like a thief in the dead of night lest someone found out what an embarrassingly ridiculous fanboy with a crush on Russia’s greatest figure skating legend he _really_ was did not even come close to hearing the real thing.

“aishiteru.”

A faint blush tinted the bridge of Victor’s nose when he said the words in Japanese, like they were something he had been practising in secret for a long time but never said out loud. Yuuri had to laugh through his tears. He felt tickled, elated, slain; he felt too much all at once.

“Je t’aime.”

And now they laughed. Because it was such a cliché, Victor’s well known command of the French language being put to use for the most clichéd French phrase there is. Yuuri tried to pry his hand free from Victor’s grip and Victor let him, let Yuuri bring both hands around the chiselled features and lean in close, just enough to still see him clearly without having to go cross-eyed, just enough not to miss the slightest expression on his face.

“I love you.”

Victor said and blushed more. And Yuuri suddenly felt like the twelve-year-old whose world came off its hinges again. Victor Nikiforov blushed, under his very hands, and it was better than his wildest dreams.

“That’s all the languages I can say it in, though if you want to I can learn a few more,” Victor grinned.

Yuuri’s laughter rang out like the most wholesome sound Victor had ever heard.

“I love you back,” Yuuri managed to say, syllables broken off the wad of emotion filling his chest like something solid, something eternal.

“I have _always_ loved you, Victor,” he added and the emphasis on the one word made it sound like so much longer than even always.

For a long time they just stayed like this, faces inches apart, fingers reacquainting themselves with much loved features, drawing the curves of brows and the softness of cheeks and the angles of jaws and the bows of lips, eyes drinking until blue drowned in brown drowned in blue drowned in brown and they could see each other, recognising, reconciling, and everything was old and everything was new.

Their faces tilted into a kiss with age-old memory, but the feeling was new, warmth enveloping them like a small world of their own at the touch of their lips and Yuuri’s first tentative brush of the tip of his tongue between Victor’s lips. Victor opened up to his touch willingly, welcomed Yuuri home with all the yearning and tenderness he had harboured since Yuuri walked out the door of his hotel room in Sochi. Yuuri waited just one split second longer, just long enough until he saw Victor’s eyes fall shut before he closed his own and sighed into the kiss. Victor’s words came back to mind, _You kiss like a dream._ Except that reality was so much better, Yuuri thought as he followed the tease and taste of Victor’s tongue, felt the slide of his tongue against Victor’s, exploring and tingling like a blazing trail of nervous energy he could feel at the back of his neck and down his spine. His felt their hands searching for something to hold on to, Victor’s roaming across his back and holding him closer, his own hands carding through the soft silver tresses he had been staring at and dreaming of throughout his teens. He felt it pooling in his stomach like happiness, and curling his toes like pins and needles after his limbs being asleep for far too long. Home. Kissing Victor felt like coming home.

They came apart but did not part, hands refusing to let go and sighs ringing loud in the small space between them, noses brushing for a moment and giggles ensuing over the silly notion of feeling incapable of letting go, almost as if they feared the other could dissolve into a thousand sad memories if they stopped touching.

It was only after another lingering embrace, and Yuuri pressing his lips against the scar on Victor’s throat for the longest time like he was trying to soothe all the pain he had ever caused him by showering this pale mark with gentleness, and Victor murmuring into his ear what he had not dared tell him in Sochi, that they felt brave enough to take just one step back. Their hands immediately found each other by their sides.

“How did you know where to find me?” Yuuri asked, a little breathlessly. He wound his fingers tight around Victor’s, reluctant to let go of him. Especially as the memory of Sochi was suddenly clinging to him like a ghost sitting on the protagonist’s back in Asian horror movies and it became painfully obvious to him that Victor’s memories had returned in Sochi. That moment when the clutched his neck, his memories had lashed out at him like Yuuri’s knife such a long time ago, all the forgotten details and love and pain shooting back into his system like the blade that nipped at his skin and let Yuuri back inside. They would need to talk about this; they would need to talk about so many things but Yuuri knew they were still in the middle of the awe of _finding_ each other.

Yuuri wound their fingers tighter together like he never wanted to allow distance to come between them ever again. He didn’t quite know what he expected to hear, but it certainly wasn’t the soft “Oh…” that was accompanied by the delightful blush that appeared once again in the marble of Victor’s cheeks.

“You have Phichit to thank for that.” Victor smiled, a little sheepishly. “He called in reinforcements.”

“Phichit-kun…” Yuuri breathed his friend’s name like a mash of relief and wonder. His brows crinkled, drawn together like he remembered a here and now that had been replaced by the past for how long he couldn’t even have said. He had lived several lifetimes at lightning speed since they had had set out from their B&B.

Looking past Victor, Yuuri searched the landscape for his friend. Victor started to chuckle the moment he sawby the expression on Yuuri’s face that he had found him.

“Let’s go,” he said softly.

Victor’s arm came around Yuuri’s shoulder with ease as they turned to walk away from the riverside, Yuuri not without sparing one last glance at the Celtic cross and a fond thought of everything it guarded. They walked slowly, steps in synch, feet feeling secure and at home on these grounds.

“Chris...?” Yuuri turned his head slightly towards Victor when he saw the tall figure standing beside Phichit’s giddily hovering frame, blond curls tugged into a frazzled bird’s nest by the wind.

Victor smiled and nodded while their steps never faltered. “It’s okay. He knows.”

“Everything?” One of Yuuri’s eyebrows climbed up with all that the question implied.

“Everything.” The wind grabbed the laughter from their mouths.

Phichit and Yuuri clung to each other in a fierce hug for a long, long time. The excited, emotion-filled words passing back and forth between them could be heard but not understood. But their significance was mirrored in the way Victor watched them, features slightly contorted with the effort of holding back even more emotions, and in the smile that passed between him and Chris.

Once Yuuri let go of Phichit, not without one last affectionate shoulder rub, he faced Chris for a hug that carried more than just the acquaintance between two athletes and a few years of shared competitions.

“I think your hand missed Yuuri’s back there just slightly,” Victor remarked after a pointed little cough.

Chris obediently moved his hand away from Yuuri’s arse.

“Sorry.” He didn’t look it as he grinned at Victor over Yuuri’s shoulder.

“I’m sure you are.” Victor smiled sweetly at him, but his eyes signalled a warning.

“Okay, you guys.” Phichit did some impressive eyebrow acrobatics. “I want to know _everything_!”

Half an hour later they were seated around a rustic wooden table in the corner of a restaurant in town. Half-hidden in an alcove they were grateful for some privacy because the place was buzzing with the lunch crowd whereas they wanted something resembling peace and quiet to talk. Yuuri exchanged a glance with Victor, and another one, smiles and blushes like the sunrise prominent on both their faces, while their hands let go of each other merely long enough so they could eat. Their chairs were moved just that smallest bit of don’t-want-to-leave-your-side closer together. Watching them across the table, Phichit exchanged a glance of his own with Chris. Chris possessed none of Phichit’s consideration for their friends, he openly shook his head at their utter reluctance to let even a sheet of paper come between them, although he had an affectionate smile on his face.

“So.” Phichit dipped a thick, crispy chip into ketchup and popped it into his mouth, waving the fork around as he chewed and swallowed. “You two were aristocrats in Victorian England.” He looked back and forth between Chris and Victor.

“Apparently so,” Chris replied smoothly, “though as I told you, I have absolutely no recollection of it.”

“And the land in Ireland where Yuuri lived was all yours.”

Victor nodded.

“I lost my family in the Great Famine, as you know.” Yuuri squeezed Victor’s hand under the table as he addressed Phichit. He had already filled him in on his life in Ireland on the way, entangled hands swinging between him and Victor, Phichit walking on his other side as Yuuri told him the full extent of the flashbacks Phichit already knew, colouring in all the blind spots. Phichit might have uttered a curse here and a sob there, muttering thanks when Chris tapped him on the shoulder from behind and held out a pack of tissues.

“I escaped when they took me from Ireland to London, I was supposed to be shipped off to the prison colonies in Australia.”

“Fucking badass, Katsuki!” Phichit shook his head as he crushed two more chips in his mouth.

“Is it any wonder I fell for him?” Victor grinned and wound one arm around Yuuri’s waist.

Yuuri flushed crimson. Phichit and Chris chuckled.

“And Minako was there, too, living sneakily as a Catholic among the London aristocracy?”

Yuuri nodded. “She was something like a motherly friend, even then. She helped a lot of Irish rebels, it was well known in the community. I contacted her and she took me in, turned me from an escaped prisoner into a gentleman and…” He looked briefly at Victor, a shadow of regret flitting across his face. “We plotted revenge. Our plan was that I court Victor in case my attempts to end his life were unsuccessful and we needed another strategy for me to get close to him. And they were. Unsuccessful, I mean.”

“I started receiving letters from a mysterious suitor,” Victor picked up the story. He didn’t seem to share Yuuri’s regret at all, obviously delighted as he let go of Yuuri’s waist and started drawing calming circles over the small of Yuuri’s back.

“Do we have to talk about those?” Yuuri muttered as he picked up his fork again with his free hand and started picking at the tomato slices still left on his plate. 

“Absolutely, they were wonderful!” Victor declared cheerfully. “We can talk about your letters _or_ your attempts at killing me.”

“You seem way too cheerful about that.” Chris shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter now.” Victor moved his chair in a little closer, wound himself a little tighter around Yuuri. “There was a point when it didn’t matter then.”

Yuuri put down his fork and reached for the hand Victor had placed loosely beside his plate.

“I believed it was Victor’s fault. That my family, and all my people, that they starved. I wanted revenge. The problem was that the moment we met in person…” He fell silent. Blushed.

“Okay, that part I can guess.” Phichit laughed out loud. “You loved each other from the moment you met and you forgot all about your murder schemes.”

“Actually that is only partly true,” Victor answered. “We did love each other from the moment we met, but Yuuri still went ahead with his murder schemes. He wanted to stab me on our wedding night.”

“That was on your _wedding night???_ ” Phichit nearly jumped out of his seat as he yelled the words at Yuuri. Chris pulled him back into his seat and apologised quietly to the people who had turned around to see what the noise at their table was all about.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Phichit muttered sheepishly and leaned in towards Yuuri to whisper frantically. “You _didn’t_ say it was your _wedding night_!”

“I didn’t _remember_!” Yuuri whispered back just as frantically.

Unnoticed by them, Victor and Chris watched them and exchanged an amused glance.

“Is that why you have that scar?” Phichit asked Victor, who instinctively reached for the side of his neck with one hand.

“My mother believes it’s a reminder of my previous life.” Victor smiled a little shyly.

“Holy shit.” Phichit looked at Yuuri. “Yuuri Katsuki. Leaving impressions for centuries.”

“Phichit!” Yuuri rolled his eyes, but he smiled a little complacently into his glass he had just picked up.

“So you obviously didn’t kill him on your wedding night. Then what happened?”

A look passed between Yuuri and Victor. Chris feigned a cough but was clearly laughing into his hand.

“I see.” Phichit grinned like the cat that got the cream.

“Actually Yuuri told me everything,” Victor said. “I’d had no idea.”

“Before or after the wall sex?” Phichit wriggled his eyebrows.

“PHICHIT!” If looks could kill Yuuri would have fried Phichit across the table there and then.

“Yuuri told me his whole story.” Victor’s hand began to draw small, soothing circles on Yuuri’s lower back again. Yuuri visibly relaxed. “Many people in Ireland died during the famine not just because they relied on the potato crops that withered but also because the English lords who owned the land didn’t care about what happened to their tenants. I thought I did. As far as I knew I made sure I took care of the people living on my land in Ireland. I had decreed that no matter what happens no crops were to be taken from them. That food was to be sent to them should they need it. The thought that people went hungry was unbearable to me.”

As he spoke, Victor pushed his plate that still had half a serving of fish and chips on it towards Yuuri, accompanied by a look that said he had well noticed Yuuri eying his food and encouraging him to eat.

Yuuri lowered his eyes, face flushing, but he pulled Victor’s plate closer and picked up his fork again.

“There was only one reason they were starving and that was that my mother, who took care of several of my business endeavours, let them.” Victor heaved a deep sigh.

“His mother was Lilia, by the way,” Yuuri commented and ate some chips.

Phichit’s eyes became the size of saucers. “Baranovskaya???”

Victor and Yuuri nodded almost simultaneously.

“Oh my god!” Phichit rose in his seat and leaned on the table, excited again. “Was Yakov your father?!”

“No.” Victor laughed.

“He was something like a butler,” Yuuri said. “But also something like a bodyguard.”

Beside him, Victor made a low humming sound of approval in this throat. “Yakov was a senior member of our household staff. My father had passed away and Yakov was a loyal friend to him since becoming his manservant in his youth. He was someone with authority, and the only person my mother had some sort of respect for.”

“I bet he was sleeping with her!”

“I thought so too but he didn’t.” Victor laughed at Phichit’s exclamation. “He cherished my late father’s friendship too much. I’m sure he was in love with her though, otherwise he would never have tolerated her wrongdoings for so long. When I found out the truth about all the things she had done and sent her away to one of our remote estates where she could do no more harm, Yakov went with her. I trusted no-one but him to keep her in check, but I think he wouldn’t have wanted to _not_ be by her side either.”

“And you two moved to Ireland?” Chris asked. He had been quiet until now, having heard a lot of this story from Victor since Sochi, though he looked back and forth between Victor and Yuuri now with one curious eyebrow raised.

“Not right away,” Victor said diplomatically and reached for his water glass.

“I gave him a hard time.” Yuuri dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. When he lowered his hands to the table, he picked at the napkin with both hands. “I was stubborn. I wanted to run when my plan didn’t work out, even though I was aware I had nowhere to go. Minako had left the country, I didn’t want her to get in trouble for helping me. So I had nobody to go back to.”

Victor made a sound but closed his mouth when Yuuri turned his head and silenced him with a pleading look.

“I needed some time to work through everything that was going on in my head… and in my heart, I suppose. There was a lot of guilt. A sense of failure. I had wanted to avenge all the people that had been wronged but I felt I failed them all, not just when I couldn’t kill him but already at the moment I fell in love. It took me a while to chew through all that. Come to terms with what I was feeling. Victor was nothing but patient and understanding. He offered me freedom, and the protection of his name. Stay or leave. Whatever I preferred.”

Yuuri felt Victor’s hand still in the small of his back. Wander around his waist until his arm came to wind around his middle once again in a sense of belonging. He felt heat rise on his face when he turned to look at Victor, the world falling away from them as their eyes met.

Across the table, Phichit and Chris watched them for a moment, before they exchanged a smile. Yuuri looked over and blinked a couple of times when Chris cleared his throat quite pointedly.

“In the end I still needed a kick up the butt from Yuri before I went to Victor to tell him how I feel.”

Yuuri rushed the words, suddenly feeling shy saying this in front of Victor and both their best friends.

“I owe Yura a lot, though I’m pretty sure he will hate the present I’m bringing him,” Victor added, smirking.

“Wait. Wait!” Phichit raised one hand for attention. “Plisetsky? _He_ was in your previous life, too???”

Yuuri blushed. “He became my friend when…” He reached for Victor’s hand on the table again. “When I was trying to figure things out. Yuri asked me to teach him Irish history and the language. In the end he stumbled across Anam Cara in one of the books we were reading and told me this was me and Victor, and that we were both idiots if we refused to see and acknowledge the bond between us.”

“I don’t believe this…” Phichit muttered. “The Russian punk was a part of your previous life, _and_ your friend!”

“He was a ward of my mother’s, and he became mine when I sent her away.” Victor wound his fingers tight around Yuuri’s on the table, his arm even closer around Yuuri’s waist. “He grew up to be an amazing fighter for Irish independence and Home Rule, but that’s a whole different story for another day. Let’s just say when he was grown up he led a double life.”

“Because he was charming like Victor,” Yuuri cut in.

“ _And_ because he was smart and daring like Yuuri, too,” Victor added.

They fell silent after this, too many truths and memories suddenly sitting invisibly at the table with them.

“I kind of wish we could see the castle…” Yuuri confessed eventually.

Beside him, Victor sat up straight. “Oh, but we can!”

Chris started laughing, his voice deep and smooth like a freshly drawn pint of Guinness.

“Victor’s booked the castle for a private tour tomorrow morning,” he remarked when he caught Yuuri’s confused glance.

“You have?” Yuuri swung around, just in time to see Victor glare at Chris before he gave him a sheepish smile.

“I thought it could a nice surprise.”

They might have been all alone in the world for all that mattered, judging from the way they looked at each other there and then. Chris looked at Phichit. They both rolled their eyes, but they were smiling.

Yuuri and Victor refused to let go off each other, so it was decided that they would stay in the B&B together while Phichit went back with Chris to their hotel in Athenry.

“Don’t worry, it’s a twin room with two separate beds,” Chris murmured to Phichit when they waited in the hallway to sort the new arrangements out with the owner.

Phichit snorted. “Like I’d make a pass at you or let you make one at me.” He grinned and turned towards Yuuri, leaving Chris gaping at him open-mouthed for a moment.

The B&B owner was standing in the doorway to the common room when they came back inside after saying goodbye to Phichit and Chris, smiling when she saw Yuuri looking at Victor like he still couldn’t believe he was really here with him. Yuuri blushed when he caught her watching him.

“Did you find your soulmate then?” She winked.

“I…” Colouring a deeper crimson, Yuuri froze in place where he was, eyes wandering from her to Victor and back, completely at a loss for words.

“Your little Thai friend is very talkative. He mentioned why you were here,” she explained good-naturedly and turned towards Victor, who was smiling at her, one finger rubbing lightly at his temple as the only indication of nerves.

“Aren’t you that there figure skater?” She looked Victor up and down.

Victor laughed. If he was surprised to be recognised in a small bed & breakfast in the Irish countryside, he didn’t let on. “I am.”

“Me mam is a big fan. Will you sign something for her?”

“Of course!”

Yuuri watched him, watched the smile blossom on the face that had had him enthralled for almost half his life and filled him with awe and respect for the man who was always so ready to give, and if it was just a moment of his time like right now.

The moment the woman had turned her back on them and disappeared in the room to look for something to sign, Victor leaned in close towards Yuuri.

“Yuuri. Remember when _you_ talked like this?”

A smile passed between them.

“You liked it,” Yuuri said softly.

“I _loved_ it,” Victor corrected.

They jumped apart when the B&B owner returned with an old TV Times that had a two-page article about figure skating at the last Olympics, featuring a large photograph of Victor. They stepped a little way into the room for Victor to be able to sign it using a sideboard for a table. Yuuri watched him and thought how Phichit would have freaked out now about what a coincidence this was, the owner of their accommodation having saved an old TV guide for years as if she knew that one day Victor Nikiforov might walk through these very doors and sign it for her mother. And how neither him nor Victor nor the B&B owner seemed to find anything strange about this situation at all, almost like they all thought that there was no such thing as coincidence.

At last they were making their way upstairs, feet making no sound on carpeted stairs, hands brushing between their bodies, fingers hooking into each other the third time they touched.

The moment the door to the room closed, shyness settled over them like a fine layer of morning mist.

Yuuri hovered by the door and watched Victor for a moment, the simple movements of a coat being shrugged off and a silk scarf unwound from his neck. Yuuri’s eyes lingered for a split second too long on the scar on Victor’s neck before his eyes followed the slight bend of his hips when he placed his coat very carefully over the armchair near the bed.

Yuuri unzipped his own jacket but did not take it off because Victor straightened and turned his way.

When their eyes met, they stilled. The air was heavy with tension. If Yuuri had ever gone on a first date, he figured it would have felt just like this moment.

“Hello…” Yuuri smiled, and felt just the slightest bit silly when he couldn’t think of another word to say.

Victor tilted his eyes lightly to one side. “Hi.” He smiled back at Yuuri, almost a little shy.

It took Yuuri exactly two steps until he was right in front of Victor. Their hands came up again, forever reaching for each other like they had no other purpose in life. They moved closer, feet stepping in until they were practically toe to toe, foreheads bumping while their eyes fell shut and for this moment in time they just breathed and existed, and Yuuri thought he could Victor’s heart beating and Victor his.

“We need to talk.” Yuuri sighed. Opening his eyes was a huge effort, as was moving slightly back. By the sides of their legs, Victor squeezed his hands tight as if for affirmation.

“About Sochi,” Victor said.

“About us.” Yuuri pried one of his hands free to caress one side of Victor’s face. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He sat down cross-legged in one corner of the lower end of the bed, watching Victor sit down on the bed a little further away, turning towards him with no more than an arm’s length between them, the possibility for their hands to touch if they reached out.

Victor shook his hair from his face and took a deep breath. “You didn’t remember us. I thought if I told you, you would think I’m crazy, so I was hoping something would trigger your memories... of us. I was afraid.”

“I know.” Yuuri nodded, his heart beating all the way in his throat, his breath slightly accelerated.

“You left in the morning,” Victor continued. “I thought you didn’t want me.”

Yuuri had thought it would take him longer but already his hand came down in the narrow space on the bed between them, palm facing upward. “I did. But I was overwhelmed. And I was afraid too.”

“I know.” Victor reached out and placed his hand into Yuuri’s. “Tell me about it.”

The sun was setting when the words ran out and Yuuri found himself standing between Victor’s legs where he’d sat down on the lower end of the bed, his arms wrapped around Victor’s head and his face buried in the soft silver tresses, breathing him in as he pressed Victor’s face close to his heart. He felt Victor’s hands, warm and possessive, roaming across bare skin underneath his sweater. Every cell of his body was straining towards Victor, and he muttered quietly into his hair, overcome by memories and desperate to feel that passion again, that lust, that tenderness.

“I want to feel you… so much!” Yuuri bent his head so he could curl his tongue around Victor’s ear lobe and breathe his yearning into his ear. He felt the tremble he sent through Victor’s body and smiled absent-mindedly, his hands already tugging on Victor’s shirt and pulling it up in his eagerness to feel skin. His mind galloped away with him already, painted him dreams he wanted to bring to life, pale hands all over his body, the pleasant weight of a body pressing him down into the sheets, and…

“Shit!” Yuuri’s head shot up and whipped round to the window where the sun was sinking below the horizon and the skies weeping with all the regret he suddenly felt inside. He was just trying to guess what time it was and whether he would have enough time left to sprint into town before the supermarket closed because it was probably already too late for the pharmacy and…

“Yuuri.” Looking down, he met Victor’s mildly panicked and hugely confused face, and then realisation dawned on it, but Yuuri was already rambling.

“I didn’t… I haven’t…” He took a deep breath and tried again. “I wasn’t expecting that I would…”

“Yeah, me neither.” Victor let out a frustrated groan and ran one hand through his tousled hair.

As if on cue, two phones sounded at this very moment with the beeps and buzz of incoming messages and they both turned their heads simultaneously in the direction of their respective phone. Yuuri stepped away from Victor and walked over to the table where he had left his, remotely aware of Victor getting up from the bed and heading for the chair over which he had draped his coat.

“Phichit…” Yuuri said and threw a confused look across the room at Victor, who looked just as puzzled, staring at his own phone in his hand, before he threw back his head and laughed, then reached for his coat again.

Yuuri unlocked his screen and frowned at Phichit’s message:

_Side pocket of your suitcase! You can thank me later._

Brows still contorted he went to his suitcase and opened the side pocket to reach inside. He flushed crimson before his hand came back out, and a huge grin took over his face when he turned around to Victor again and presented the flat pack of three condoms and the travel size tube of lube. Victor was holding out his own hand showing off a similar yield, although there were far more condoms in the pack that Yuuri could only presume Chris had sponsored. Victor held up his phone with his other hand for Yuuri to read the message:

_Inner coat pocket. You’re welcome!_

The smiles were wiped off their faces when they looked at each other. The span between each ticking of the old clock on the wall was filled with a multitude of frantic heartbeats. Like a knife slicing through a curtain of tension they threw condoms and lube on the bed and crashed into each other from the sudden force they grabbed each other with, Yuuri toppling over backwards onto the bed pulling Victor with him as much as Victor was pushing him. 

“Remind me to thank them!” Yuuri gasped against Victor’s mouth before he devoured it in a kiss.

“As soon as we’re done strangling them,” Victor agreed when they came apart so that he could tug his shirt over his head and toss it carelessly beside the bed. Yuuri hummed his approval before he pulled him down into a hungry kiss once more, their best friends already forgotten.

Their clothes were carelessly flung out of bed as they battled for every inch of skin to be laid bare and worshipped. For a moment, Yuuri’s heart sank when he realised Victor had _known_ the last time they did this, all those moments when Yuuri had fucked him into the wall, when they’d had sex afterwards, Victor had made love while he, Yuuri, had not realised. Determined to make it up to him, he made love to him now, loved Victor, just Victor, with his hands and his heart and his soul, and with everything he ever had been.

“Do you remember how you took me to bed the first night?” Kneeling above him, Yuuri ceased his hands’ exploration of Victor’s chest, one of them coming to rest right over Victor’s heart. “The night after I confessed my love for you in the library?”

“How could I forget?” Victor placed his own hand over Yuuri’s. The heartfelt gesture belied the way his eyes widened with interest and flashed with naughtiness. “You did something that was considered quite scandalous at the time.”

Yuuri leaned down a little, bringing his face closer. “I didn’t get a chance in Sochi... but I want to know if I still love the taste of you.”

Victor smiled, breath speeding up. “Maybe you should try and make sure?”

Yuuri smiled back. “Maybe I should.”

When he moved back up on Victor’s body, leaving him achingly hard and panting, eyes glistening and tongue heavy with Victor’s musky taste, Yuuri felt elated, at ease, happier than he could remember having felt for a long time. They kissed, lazily, desperate whispers against swollen lips followed by frantic scrambling on the bed and the faint plop of lube being uncapped, and then the breathless sounds of Yuuri’s moans and sighs filled the room until there was nothing but need and impatience and tearing foil.

Yuuri stilled unexpectedly, his hands braced on Victor’s chest as he leaned over him, thighs tense where he rose up on them and paused in position right above Victor’s cock, biting back a moan when he felt Victor teasing him. Victor had one hand around the base of his cock, positioning himself, as needy to be inside him as Yuuri needed to feel him inside. The fingers of Victor’s other hand flexed for a moment where he held Yuuri by the hips, blue eyes hooded as he looked up at Yuuri with a question in them.

“Can we please do this without anyone getting stabbed or thrown off this time?” Yuuri asked, just the slightest flicker of mischief dancing in his brown eyes.

Momentary surprise gave way to laughter, the subtle movement rocking their bodies into each other, and the next thing Yuuri knew was that he was sinking down and felt Victor stretch and fill him in the most delicious way. He couldn’t stop sighing into the bliss of rediscovery, the age old rhythm and new connection, the mess of sounds and sensations they turned each other into. Their hands clasped so tightly together and their movements became so urgent that it was verging on the most beautiful pain, this desperate taking each other home.

They were still breathless afterwards, when Victor held a flushed Yuuri’s face in both his hands. His voice was laced. “Yuuri, in Sochi... if I had known it was... I would have...”

“What?” Yuuri smiled, bent further down while his thighs were still around Victor’s middle, hot, sweaty skin causing delicious friction even now like their own form of afterglow. “Been gentler? Slower? More attentive?”

His smile widened when he saw Victor was struggling for words.

“I have no regrets, Victor. Not about that part of the night. There is nothing you could have done to make that any more perfect.”

“Except keeping my mouth shut afterwards about you giving me something precious.” Victor winced.

Yuuri laughed, and it turned his face into carefree happiness. “Yeah, that was… unfortunate.”

“I felt like a chauvinist pig for weeks. It drove me crazy that this is what you might think of me.” Victor wrapped his arms around him, pulled him down against his chest, ever closer.

Yuuri felt tickled from this head to his toes when he saw Victor blushing as he stretched himself out half beside and half on top of him, cuddled up to the heat on Victor’s skin increasing under his face, their legs entangled like he had dreamed about so many times. He witnessed Victor squirming with discomfort just the slightest, but then he chose to release him from his misery. Yuuri lifted his head from Victor’s chest and stole a kiss.

“I know better now. I remember. I know why you said it and what you meant.” Yuuri smiled.

The relief was obvious on Victor’s face. His arms wound closer around Yuuri’s back, one hand slipping upwards until he cradled the back of Yuuri’s head in one hand and pressed Yuuri’s face closer against his skin, only to shudder pleasantly when he felt Yuuri’s lips soft and hot against his scar like Yuuri wanted to pour all his regret over its existence into the loving gesture.

They barely slept a wink that night, too overwhelmed by having found each other, apart from brief spells when Yuuri dozed off with his face hidden in the crook of Victor’s neck. The movement came instinctively and from another lifetime, both of them only too aware of another time when Yuuri had already used every opportunity to kiss the scar on Victor’s throat as if he was able to make it disappear if he only loved it enough.

It was in the early hours of the morning that Victor brought up the very last thing that Yuuri would ever have expected to hear out of Victor Nikiforov’s mouth.

“You want to _coach_ me?” Yuuri stared at Victor with wide eyes. “But… you’re Victor Nikiforov! _Why_ would you want to _coach_ _me_???”

“Because I think I can make you win the Grand Prix Final.” Victor did not bat an eye.

“What?!” It came out more like a squeak. Yuuri clamped one hand before his mouth. His eyes were huge.

Victor inched closer until he sat close enough to wrap both legs around Yuuri where he was kneeling between his thighs. The closeness and the intimate position made Yuuri blush. He tried to keep his eyes on Victor’s face, and on their hands where Victor held Yuuri’s in his between their chests.

“You have always made music, Yuuri.” Victor cocked his head just the slightest. “With a harp in the past, and now you create music with your body. And I might have always been hopeless with musical instruments, but I know about skating, and I want to coach you. I want to make music with you on the ice.”

“Victor…” Yuuri felt flattered, and yet. He sighed. “This is ridiculous. April is almost gone, we don’t have enough time. Everyone else is already in full practice for the new season, even Phichit has Celestino on the phone every day reminding him to keep to his diet and work out as much as he can.” Not that Phichit adheres to any of it, he added in his mind, as his gaze flitted briefly over to one of the bags of crisps still sitting on the table in their room.

“It’s going to be a lot of hard work,” Victor agreed. “But I’m confident we can do this.”

“Have you ever even coached anyone before?” Yuuri frowned. The thought of having Victor around him every day thrilled him, he couldn’t deny it. He was actually surprised Victor didn’t hear his heart beating.

Victor shrugged. “I have helped Yakov often enough with the younger skaters. You have an ice rink in your hometown, don’t you? The one where you started out?”

Yuuri nodded. Embarrassment kicked in and smudged his fond memories of the Ice Castle. “But Victor, it’s just a small rink,” he started. “Nothing compared to the super professional training facilities you’re used to…”

“It’s a rink.” Victor sounded firm. Confident, even. “And it’s home ground for you. That’s all we need.”

Yuuri was still hesitant. Something curled inside his stomach, something ringing faintly with anxiety. Victor seemed to feel it, too. He squeezed Yuuri’s fingers tighter with his own, moved his face in closer. Yuuri lowered his eyes, feeling timid all of a sudden.

“Yuuri. If none of this had happened… not Sochi, not the past… when you just picture yourself and your life - what is it that you want to do?”

“Skate,” Yuuri said and raised his head. He said it again, more firmly. “I want to skate. I want to skate side by side with you, Victor.”

“Then let’s do this, Yuuri,” Victor said solemnly. He eased his grasp on Yuuri’s hands and brought one of his hands up to run through Yuuri’s hair. The soothing stringing of his fingers through the unruly black mop made Yuuri feel calm and sent sensual tingles from his scalp down his spine at the same time.

“I…” Yuuri took a deep breath. “All my things are packed up in Detroit, ready to be sent ahead. I was just going to pack a suitcase when I come back from Ireland and go home. To Hasetsu. I haven’t seen my family in five years.”

“Yuuri…” Victor’s hand in his hair stilled. He released Yuuri’s hand and cupped his face. He looked eager, and hopeful. “Please can I come home with you?”

Silence lingered for a moment, stalled and blossomed into hope with each palpable rise and fall of Victor’s chest.

Then, the smile took over Yuuri’s mouth, his eyes, his whole face and being, as he gave the same reply he had given many, many years ago in Victor’s library.

“Every place we are together is home, Victor.”

~ Galway, Ireland ~

“Are you okay?”

Chris turned towards Phichit when he had pulled into one of the parking spaces outside the hotel. He had been quiet pretty much the entire twenty minutes since they had said goodbye to Yuuri and Victor outside the B&B. And even though this was only the second time they actually met in person, it did strike Chris as odd. All day Phichit had been as chipper and talkative as he had been in the text messages that had gone back and forth between them since he had first approached Chris in Sochi.

“Yeah…” Phichit nodded. It sounded very tired. “Just… super emotional. I spent so long trying to help Yuuri figure out his flashbacks and this whole soulmate thing, and when it looked like it really was Victor I got so much more excited. I feel like I’ve been running on adrenaline since Sochi, so now…” He exhaled loudly.

“Now I’m feeling… empty. Somehow.” He undid his seatbelt and turned to face Chris a little more. 

“I’m so happy for Yuuri, don’t get me wrong. I couldn’t be happier for the both of them. I just feel…”

“Melancholy?” Chris offered. “Because that’s how I feel.”

A weak smile of understanding passed between them in the small confinement of the car.

“Let’s go upstairs and have a celebratory glass of champagne. We could start working on those best men’s speeches, don’t you think?”

His words brought the desired effect, for Phichit chuckled and opened the door to get out of the car.

A whole bottle of champagne later, Phichit leaned forward where he was sitting cross-legged on the bed that had been Victor’s in the two-bed-room they were booked in in Galway.

“Can I tell you a secret?” he asked, waving his empty glass about.

Chris was sitting on the couch in front of the window. He put his own glass down and slid forward on the upholstery just in case Phichit, who was more than a little drunk, threatened to fall off the bed if he leaned any further.

“I’m disappointed!” Phichit declared.

“And why’s that?” Chris asked and took the glass from Phichit’s hand when he waved it close enough for him to reach.

“Everyone was a part of Yuuri’s past life! Everyone! Even Yakov and Lilia and Yuri Plisetsky! But not _me_!”

A compassionate smile played around Chris’ mouth. He wasn’t sure whether to feel pity or amusement at the young man’s agitation, though thinking about how passionately Phichit had fought by Yuuri’s side to help him retrieve his memories and make this whole day happen, he did feel a sudden urge to give him a comforting hug.

“It’s not fair! Nobody loves Yuuri as much as I do. Okay, apart from Victor and his family. Why was I not there?” He looked like he was about cry.

“Maybe you _were_ there and the both of you just don’t remember,” Chris said gently.

Phichit uttered a sad little huff.

A short time later he was asleep, exhausted from too much champagne and excitement. Chris rose from the couch to tuck him in and switch off the light above the bed.

“Maybe I was _your_ wife,” Phichit muttered, his eyes half open for another brief moment before he snuggled his face deeper into the pillow and was fast asleep again.

Chris laughed quietly as he went back to the couch. Unable to sleep yet, he picked up his phone and grinned when he found a selfie Victor had sent him, smiling his dorky heart-shaped smile into the camera above the messy black hair of the man who had fallen asleep with his face buried in the crook of Victor’s neck.

~ Dublin, Ireland ~

In an open plan kitchen in Malahide, Chris and Victor were drinking tea while the setting sun poured flaming oranges and golds through the large windows and terrace doors. Facing them from another sofa to their left, Aidan, the man who was directly descended from the mother and child in the portrait they had seen, was going through a pile of old photographs in transparent plastic sheaths that he had placed on a white wooden table between them. He had greeted them like old friends when he opened the door to them and his two grey Irish wolfhounds ascended on them looking for cuddles, and raised his eyebrows exactly twice - the first time when Chris said his name and the second time when he introduced Victor.

“I’m very sorry to embark on you like this,” Chris said, for the second time since they had followed him inside the light-flooded and cosy house, “but I couldn’t help but notice the same name and I wondered if there was possibly…” He looked at Victor as if for help.

“Not at all.” Aidan spoke before Victor could. “I was curious to meet you when Jack said your name is Giacometti. I’ve been looking into my family’s history for years. Perhaps we’re even related, if I look back far enough? I know the Giacomettis originally came to England from Switzerland.”

“Perhaps we are,” Chris said. “Related.” It was an exciting thought, as unexpected as it had come upon him.

“If you like, I could dig around some more and contact you if I find anything.”

“I would like that very much.” Chris smiled. He had seen Victor smirk, and he knew what Victor was thinking. That he had felt a connection from the moment Aidan opened the door. It had taken Chris months to even accept the possibility of something like this when Victor had first sprung it on him. Now, years later, he was at least able to not bat an eye at feeling something like an instant connection to a person he’d never met.

“Did you know that her husband’s name was Christophe, too?” Aidan set down his own tea mug. “The Lady Helen’s, I mean. You even look somewhat like him, from the old pictures I’ve seen. And the name Victor pops up frequently in the old papers. Alexander, the boy in the picture, he seemed especially fond of him. He was like an uncle to him.”

Victor and Chris exchanged a glance, but they didn’t say anything. Victor seemed as overwhelmed as Chris was feeling.

“Really?” Chris took a sip of tea. “What a coincidence.”

Aidan gave him a look as if to say there was no such thing as coincidence.

“There’s something I thought you might like to see.” He reached for a small volume of bound pages that was lying to his left on the sofa. “We had this transcribed for an exhibition some years ago, not all of it, but the most exciting parts. It was difficult to choose, she was a wildly entertaining woman who had a lot to say in between the everyday life accounts of household details and social events.”

Chris felt Victor’s gaze on him as he accepted the book from Aidan and opened the front page.

His eyes nearly popped out of his head.

“Her _diary_?” he asked, stunned. Out of Aidan’s sight, Victor tugged excitedly on Chris’ shirt.

“You can borrow this if you like.” Aidan grinned. “If you can bring it back before you leave Ireland?”

“Absolutely.” Chris nodded, holding on to the diary like to the most precious thing.

Victor set down his mug on the table in front of them. “How did you end up in Ireland?”

Aidan laughed. “Alexander. He had a fondness for Ireland.”

Chris put one firm hand down on Victor’s thigh when he felt his friend nearly jump out of his seat beside him.

“He settled here, raised a family, and that was that,” Aidan said, unaware. “The other children remained in England, one of the younger sons inherited the title because Alexander didn’t want it. He wanted to become a photographer instead. He was very much inspired by said Victor mentioned in all his stories. Even preferred to be called Sascha.”

Chris’ grip on Victor’s thigh tightened. He could feel his friend’s agitation beside him.

Some time later, when Aidan saw them off in the driveway, Chris turned again before he got into the waiting taxi that would take them back to Dublin to meet up with Yuuri and Phichit again.

“Why did the earldom cease to exist?” he asked, one leg already inside the car.

Aidan smiled. “One of our ancestors was fonder of men than of women. There were no heirs. The branch over here wasn’t entitled, they were already too much invested in Home Rule, and the Crown did not like it.”

A smile passed between them, and Chris shook his hand again before he slid onto the backseat and pulled the car door shut. He waved until Aidan disappeared from sight as the taxi slowly made its way past the elegant homes of Malahide.

“What?” Chris asked when he heard Victor chuckle quietly beside him in the back of the taxi.

“You didn’t even notice, did you?” Victor’s eyes flashed with amusement. “He already said ‘ _our_ ancestors.’”

Later that evening they met up in the suite Victor had booked in one of Dublin’s most prestigious hotels, despite Yuuri’s protest who felt that a less extravagant accommodation would have sufficed. Chris and Phichit had separate rooms on the same floor, yet they all got together in Victor and Yuuri’s suite where they enjoyed dinner from the hotel’s star restaurant at the dining table in the living room. Afterwards, they got comfortable on the sofa and armchairs in front of the fireplace. Gently swinging a tumbler of Irish whiskey in his hand, Chris cleared his throat, opened the diary in his lap and started to read out loud.

Some time later Phichit grinned and leaned back in his armchair, arms crossed behind his head, when Chris closed the diary and placed it on the glass top of the coffee table between them.

“Well, at least we know now why you’re gay,” Phichit remarked.

Chris chuckled. “Obviously. Because I would never have found such an amazing woman again, ever.”

On the sofa, Yuuri squeezed Victor’s hands where he covered them with his own over his middle. They had listened to Chris cuddled up together, smiles on their faces that were sometimes fonder, sometimes melancholy. Sometimes they had laughed out loud. Thrown in the odd comments here and there. “You were so impressed and horny you wanted to move the wedding forward,” Victor had said to Chris at one point. Another time it was Yuuri who added, “The carriage pulled up outside the castle and the door opened and a pile of blond little angels just fell out, it was so funny, and so cute!” Of course, Phichit thought. To them, those were memories. Those were moments they had lived, seen through the eyes of someone they had known.

There had been similar remarks when they had visited the castle, Phichit and Chris following Yuuri and Victor from room to restored room as they painted a picture of the past for them. Talked about the life they lived. Yuuri’s vegetable beds and how he taught the locals. Victor’s new library and how he learned the language and folklore of the people. The poodle puppies they brought from England. The local orphans they took in and raised like their own children. The hidden rooms where they secretly nursed Irish rebels who got wounded fighting for Home Rule back to health.

A whole lifetime of memories, and yet, here and now they were just at the beginning of a new one.

“So, Yuuri.” Phichit took another sip from his glass of wine. “What are you going to do now? Go to St. Petersburg with Victor?”

“Actually…” Yuuri leaned back so as to be able to exchange a brief look with Victor, who nodded just the faintest bit and smiled so mysteriously that it made Chris frown from across the room and sit up straighter with suspicion. Yuuri looked back at Phichit.

“I’m going to start getting back in shape and practising the moment we leave Ireland so that I can kick your ass on the ice. I want to compete with both of you in the Grand Prix Final.”

He looked pointedly from Phichit to Chris and back as he spoke, and was met with confusion.

“But Yuuri.” Phichit frowned. “You haven’t got a coach.”

“Oh, but he does.” Victor’s chin came down on Yuuri’s shoulder as he leaned forward and smiled first at Phichit and then at Chris.

~ Hasetsu, Japan ~

Five years after leaving home for Detroit, Yuuri got out of a taxi outside his parent’s home. He wasn’t alone.

They had met again in the arrivals hall of Narita Airport, flying in from different ends of the worlds. After days spent with very little sleep and lots of texting, emails going back and forth between them and their respective skating associations and sponsors, a simple hug felt like a whole world, a tender kiss stilled the torrent their life had become. Yuuri had no idea how Victor made it all work, but then he figured that his name opened a lot of doors for him. He just went with the flow, with new vigour, making Phichit gape a lot and start taking his own training much more serious now that he had to fear Yuuri as competition. Yuuri had started dieting the day they left Ireland and training the day they arrived in Detroit. For the first time since Sochi, he felt determination again.

On the flight from Tokyo to Fukuoka, Victor had presented him with a rough draft of a training schedule that made Yuuri swallow hard for a moment and understand better where the discipline and resilience of those Russian athletes came from. Food became a point in their plans that Yuuri would have liked to skip. He felt ashamed of the weight he had put on, and yet his throat felt tight when Victor admitted to feeling guilty about insisting on a strict skaters’ diet when he knew what a big part food, or rather a lack thereof, had played in Yuuri’s past life. Yuuri could only scramble over for as much of a hug as the airplane seating allowed, assuring Victor that he trusted him, that they could put this behind them without forgetting. They tried to sleep but couldn’t, still finding too many things to talk about.

It was in Fukuoka that Yuuri first met Makkachin, unaware of Victor watching him with utter adoration as he just went down on one knee in the airport and hugged the large poodle, giggling when she lavished his face with affectionate licks and the sheer strength of her nearly bowled him over. Yuuri’s heart had flipped painfully in his chest a couple of times from all the poodle cuddles when he finally rose and they made their way to the train station.

“Are you excited to see your family again?” Victor asked, standing beside their luggage, Makkachin by his side, her leash curled around his hand. He seemed a little nervous, Yuuri noted, and took Victor’s other hand.

“Yes, but…” Yuuri gave a short, breathless laugh. “More than my family, there’s someone I’m even more excited to see again.”

As if on cue, the faint sound of a sliding door could be heard, followed by the excited high barking of a small dog. He shot out of the building like lightning, a chocolate coloured fur ball making straight for Yuuri who had just about time to let go of Victor’s hand before he dropped to his knees and caught the overexcited toy poodle with both hands. This was the complete opposite of how Yuuri had ever imagined bringing the person he loved home to meet his family, on his knees outside the house with a small and a large poodle racing and barking excitedly around him while Victor Nikiforov stood next to him, laughing delightedly at the scene.

“This is Vicchan,” Yuuri finally said when he scrambled to his feet, overexcited poodle in his arms.

“He really missed you.” Victor laughed as he rubbed the small poodle behind his ear.

“I missed him, too,” Yuuri said softly. “Let’s get inside.”

He led the way into the house, to introduce Victor Nikiforov to his family.

Yuuri’s mother looked as happy as a child at her birthday party.

“ _hajimemashite, Vicchan!_ ” she beamed and reached for him with both arms, and Victor leaned down for a hug that he had not expected of a Japanese person after all the reading he had done on cultural differences but that completely melted his insides with instant affection for this woman who looked so much like Yuuri.

Yuuri’s father greeted him with equal enthusiasm like a long lost son. Mari was as laid back as ever, Minako scolding them for not letting her collect them from the station before she fawned over Victor, the only true skating fan in Yuuri’s family and she was not even related to them.

“Vicchan?” Victor finally turned to Yuuri with a frown, looking pointedly at the small poodle who was still in Yuuri’s arms like they simply refused to let go of each other.

Yuuri blushed as he mumbled, “He’s named after you.”

“Yuuuuuri!” Victor’s smile became huge and heart-shaped. “I think you are even more of a fan of mine than Chris led me to believe!”

An exchange in rapid Japanese followed between Yuuri and his mother. Victor thought he heard the word “poster” in there several times, but he wouldn’t have put his money on it. They were speaking much too fast for his very meagre beginners’ knowledge of the Japanese language.

Mari leaned in to Victor and translated into her accented English, “He just asked our mother if she prepared his room and she said not to worry, it’s aired and cleaned and nothing was changed in there and all his posters of you are still there on the walls for you to sign them.”

Victor burst into delighted laughter again, while Yuuri blushed even more if possible and uttered an irritated “Mari-neechan!” and looked at her like someone who felt utterly betrayed by his nearest and dearest.

“Katsudon!” Yuuri sighed it like the name of a lover when his mother placed the steaming bowl in front of him on the dinner table. His face contorted like he was about to cry as he met with the mouth-watering scent.

“Yuuri’s favourite,” Minako explained to Victor. “Although he only ever got to eat it when he won because it has a lot of calories and he puts on weight easily.”

Across the table, Yuuri met Victor’s eyes and quickly lowered his gaze. Victor looked at him so calm and composed, Yuuri didn’t need to look further to know what he was thinking. This was so not tying in with his diet, not even remotely. Katsudon and skating had never really been meant for one another.

“I haven’t eaten _okaasan’s_ katsudon in over five years,” Yuuri mumbled quietly and took a couple of deep breaths, longing eyes on the bowl. At last, after a particularly deep sigh, Yuuri pushed the bowl away from him into the middle of the table, face set with grim determination.

“ _Gomen_ , _okaasan_.” He bowed. “Thank you so much for making this especially for me, but I really should keep to my diet.”

Yuuri’s mother smiled good-naturedly and headed back into the kitchen, announcing she would fix some chicken and vegetables for Yuuri instead. He barely dared look at her retreating back, feeling guilty for rejecting her efforts. Even worse, the delicious aroma of katsudon was driving him insane.

A movement from across the table caught his eye and he looked up, eyes widening.

Victor pushed the bowl back towards him.

“It’s your welcome home food,” he said with a soft smile. “Tomorrow you’re back on your diet.”

Mari didn’t even try to hide her hum of approval before she scrambled to her feet to hurry after her mother to let her know not to bother making Yuuri something else.

Victor fought valiantly but the long journey, the meeting with Yuuri’s family, Makkachin’s over-excitement, a bath in the onsen and a rich dinner in a cosy, warm room with a cup of sake that Yuuri’s father kept topping off finally took their toll on him. He struggled to keep his eyes open, terrified of being impolite.

“Take your man to bed, little brother, he’s dead on his feet,” Mari smirked at some point, drawing laughter from her father and Minako, and giggles from her mother. Flustered, Yuuri glared at her with another exasperated “Mari-neechan!” before he gently shook Victor awake and helped him up the stairs to the unused banquet room that had been set up as their bedroom. And even while Yuuri’s heart was beating with excitement in his chest as he put Victor to bed, made sure the dogs were both comfortably curled up at the other end of the room, brushed his teeth and finally slipped under the blanket beside Victor and switched off the light – he was smiling the entire time.

Victor woke up in the middle of the night. Confused and disoriented, he lay very still and felt his heart pounding wildly in his chest for moments on end because even in the dark he knew this was not his own bedroom. The light from the window looked different, the bedding felt different, it smelt and sounded different, and Makkachin was not by his side.

But Yuuri was.

Stirring beside him and whispering his name like a question, his arm instinctively pulling Victor near.

“Where are we?” Victor muttered and closed his eyes again, face buried in the crook of Yuuri’s neck.

“Home.” Yuuri placed a kiss on Victor’s temple.

He felt more than heard Victor’s happy sigh against his skin as they fell back asleep.

~ ~ ~

Victor wouldn’t let Yuuri on the ice until he had regained his Grand Prix weight. Their first week in Hasetsu consisted of training, sightseeing, endless discussions of possible programmes. But their favourite part by far were the long walks on the beach with two eager poodles who had become instant friends. It was on one of those days that they sat side by side in the sand, their hands never not touching no matter how small the space between them, small gestures for the big reassurance that the other was near, was real.

They had gone over Yuuri’s repertoire for the umpteenth time, frustration and impatience bubbling under the surface because time was mercilessly ticking by and neither of them wanted to stay off the ice any longer. Yuuri had told Victor about his anxiety, drawing circles in the sand with a stick he had stopped throwing for the dogs when he found he couldn’t look Victor in the eyes as he confessed to his greatest weakness. Victor had admitted that this was unfamiliar ground for him but that he was going to do his best, just like Yuuri had told him he would, too.

“You have tremendous potential.” Victor turned to face him, squeezing his hand tight.

“I’m scared I’ll let you down.” Yuuri’s fingers squeezed back.

“I’m scared I’ll let you down, too. I won’t go easy on you.” Victor looked at him imploringly while a sea breeze whipped his silver bangs across his face. “That is how I show my love.”

“Good.” Yuuri nodded, his face determined. “There’s no point in doing this at all unless we’re doing it right.”

Yuuri’s phone beeped in his pocket and he took it out to glance at the screen, then muttered an apology before he called up the message. He looked up at Victor. “Yuuko says the Ice Castle is ours whenever we’re ready.”

“Okay.” Victor tilted his head and looked at Yuuri with an excited glimmer in his eyes. “Tomorrow we skate.”

~ ~ ~

It took forever until Yuuri even made it onto the ice, five Nishigoris wanting to welcome Yuuri home while they were barely able to conceal their excitement over Victor Nikiforov’s presence in their small rink. The triplets especially were falling over themselves to be close to Yuuri, and Victor swallowed down the urge to look pointedly at his watch. He wanted to get started, yet he knew he could never have begrudged Yuuri the time he got to spend with children.

“The last time I saw you in person you were this small.” Yuuri showed a span of about forty centimetres with his hands. “You looked like a little monkey.” He grinned.

“Must have been Axel.” Loop pulled a grimace and ran off.

“Yuuri.”

He looked up when he heard Victor’s voice.

“Have you done any skating at all since you… parted ways with Celestino?”

“Ah…” Scratching the back of his head with one hand raised, Yuuri seemed embarrassed and so grateful that Victor was glad now he had not voiced the “since you royally fucked up” that had wanted to slip out. Yuuri automatically started shaking his head when he stopped mid-movement and the memory of something crossed his face first, followed by the now very familiar blush Victor adored so much.

“I _have_ been working on something,” Yuuri started. “They still let me use the ice for practising on my own if I wanted to. It’s… well.”

“Can I see?” Victor asked gently.

For a moment Yuuri seemed indecisive, then a more determined expression came onto his face and he skated over to where Yuko and Takeshi were still leaning on the barrier, watching the both of them more or less intently while they pretended to talk about something else. Victor saw them put their heads together and talk quietly in Japanese. Then Yuuri blushed again, while both Yuko and Takeshi started grinning and Takeshi slammed Yuuri so hard on the back that even Victor winced from where was looking on. Interested, he leaned on the barrier where he was standing as Yuuri skated to centre ice and gave Yuko a faint nod. He got into position, the music started—

And Victor gasped sharply like a fist had punched the air from him.

The tenor’s voice rang out from the speakers, the Italian words he had heard a million times weaving through the Ice Castle and Victor felt them reach him like it was the very first time, like he had not fussed and fought over every single one of these words himself. He felt his fingers curl tight around the barrier as he leaned back a little and didn’t know how else to handle the onslaught of emotion rushing through him. Yuuri had always been a beautiful skater in his own right. Victor considered himself a fan, even though it made Yuuri prickly and flustered when he told him so. But seeing Yuuri skate his own programme filled Victor with awe, and humility, and so much love. It was like seeing the two of them together on the ice as one person, and it was beautiful. Ideas sparked into life in his mind with every turn Yuuri took, and he wanted to write them down but he didn’t want to avert his eyes either. His feet itched with urgent feelings to join Yuuri on the ice.

Victor reined them in. He didn’t want Yuuri to feel like he wasn’t doing his programme justice and needed the great Victor Nikiforov himself to show him how it’s done. Because he did beautifully. He was grace and music, every move a most powerful note. As the music picked up for its dramatic crescendo just before the final lyrics, Yuuri skated close to him and backwards again, his face all concentration and something more, his arms moving graciously to Victor’s choreography, reaching out for an invisible lover. No, Victor thought, not invisible. Reaching out for _him_. With the longing for Victor of half a lifetime so unmasked on Yuuri’s face that Victor felt his heart break in his chest.

There were no words in him he could possibly have said after Yuuri finished Victor’s very own _Stammi Vicino_ programme, so Victor just skated out to him and knocked him over with a kiss.

~ ~ ~ 

The first time Yuuri saw the choreography Victor wanted him to do for his short programme he laughed. A little hysterically, convinced he would never be able to pull it off. Victor couldn’t possibly mean anything of what he was lecturing about for _him_. Pleasure followed by pleasure. Yuuri flushed crimson, and he was sure Takeshi was snickering from where he was watching their practice that day.

Skating off into an old step sequence to calm his nerves, Yuuri nodded faintly to give off the impression that he was listening to Victor intently.

“Eros.” Yuuri swung around when he heard the word. “You said that in Sochi.”

Victor grinned. “I did.”

“This...” Yuuri gulped. “I don’t know if I can do this, Victor.”

“Well, _I_ know you can. That’s good enough for the beginning.”

“But Victor.” Yuuri skated another figure. It wasn’t easy as it should have been, but his thoughts were on the programme Victor had skated. He had never seen him skate this before and he didn’t want to impose on something that might earn Victor another gold metal in the future.

“Is this one of your short programmes you were creating for your new season? Because I couldn’t possibly take this from you. You’re already taking a whole season off because of me.”

“Yuuri.” Victor smiled at him across the ice. “It’s for _you_. I’ve been working on this since our night in Sochi.”

“Oh.”

~ ~ ~

It was a long, exhausting summer.

It was the summer that Victor Nikiforov turned all the heads of Hasetsu when he attended a festival in a pale plum-coloured yukata, and countless people were curiously asking Hiroko and Toshiya Katsuki about the handsome foreigner their Yuuri had brought home with him. It was the summer when Yuuri blushed a million times and felt his cheeks were beginning to ache from smiling too much. When he thought he might need to see a cardiologist because it could not possibly be normal to be so excited watching Victor slip into a space within his family Yuuri hadn’t even been aware had been waiting there just for him.

It was the summer when Yuuri learned that one did not become Victor Nikiforov without a discipline and work ethic and utter dedication that verged on obsession. When Yuuri learned that Victor hated tardiness and a lack of the same commitment he felt for the ice and could get really salty whenever Yuuri overslept and rushed through the doors of the Ice Castle late for practice. The summer when Yuuri learned that Victor hid dissatisfaction behind the softest smile and most cheerful greetings, and the summer when Yuuri learned how to read all the signs. It was the summer when Yuuri learned not to let Victor drink too much because it made him take his clothes off wherever he was and get touchy-feely in public.

It was the summer that Yuuri took all the sappy walks along the beach he had dreamed up in his teenage years, hand in hand with Victor, Makkachin running alongside Vicchan and both poodles splashing them with sea water as they shook off a tumble in the waves. When they swam in the sea and laughed breathlessly tousling each other’s hair as they washed the salt water off in the outdoor shower. When the fireworks of the summer festivals no longer projected a desperate crush on someone out of reach Yuuri simply wished to be there but really illuminated Victor’s face. When Yuuri bought _temochi hanabi_ for the first time in over five years and spent half the night on the beach with Victor lighting them, dancing and laughing with small, happily sizzling sparklers in their hands.

It was the summer when Victor learned from Yuuri how nice it can be not to rise at dawn but just sleep in and laze around for a day in comfortable clothes, though he insisted on at least wearing the green _jinbei_ he had come to love so well instead of the T-shirt and shorts combination Yuuri chose. The summer when Victor first came face to face with Yuuri’s anxiety and his own paralysis in the midst of it. When he had to make a helpless emergency call to Phichit and ask what to do. It was the summer when Victor learned to cook Yuuri’s favourite dishes from Yuuri’s mother. When he learned that in Japan, fruit is an expensive gift that comes in pretty, almost luxurious wrapping and costs a small fortune. It was the summer that he ate more watermelon than he had eaten in his entire life and nearly fell over backwards from all the feelings that were contained in the small gesture of Yuuri leaning over and kissing a drop of watermelon juice from his unshaven chin. When he fell in love with feeling torn between not shaving and the thrill he felt over the small humming sound of approval Yuuri made rubbing his soft cheek against Victor’s three-day stubble.

It was the summer Victor felt the life and love he had been neglecting for much too long acutely in every minute of every day and night. The best of Victor’s life. His first summer with Yuuri.

It was the summer that they witnessed a transformation in Yuuri on the ice. He was self-conscious skating in front of Victor at first, unaware of how he changed a little with every single day. The summer when he couldn’t pinpoint the moment, if it existed at all, when he became self- _confident_ skating in front of Victor. It was the summer Yuuri’s feet were as bruised and bloody as they had never been in all the years since he had started skating. When he slid into the onsen every night with a sigh of acute exhaustion. When he worked himself to the bone and then pushed himself further, until he felt Victor’s words of coaching give him wings. It was the summer that Yuuri learned to fly.

It was a long, intense summer. The best of Yuuri’s life. His first summer with Victor.

~ ~ ~

One scorching afternoon that Victor had decided they were taking off, they found themselves in Yuuri’s room.

“You haven’t told me about this part of yourself yet.” Victor sat down on Yuuri’s bed quite unceremoniously.

A little frown of irritation momentarily crossed Yuuri’s face on instinct because here, in the small confinements of his childhood home, Victor’s presence seemed unreal. Here in Yuuri’s room, surrounded by all these posters, Victor took on yet another shape, became one more version of the man surrounding them in so many facets, only this one larger than life.

“The fan part?” Flustered, Yuuri scratched the back of his neck. “There’s not really much to tell.”

Yuuri felt catapulted back almost half his life, remembered how he put up the first poster on this wall. And now the man himself was sitting right here, smiling at him as sincerely as not even the most cheerful ones of these posters had ever looked, and it struck Yuuri that perhaps the man on the posters, the one he had idolised for all these years, had little in common with the real person.

“I saw you skate, I was enraptured.” Yuuri gave a little shrug.

“Enraptured.” Victor repeated, and smiled. “That’s a fancy word.”

“What do you want to hear, Victor? That I touched myself looking at your posters or something?” Yuuri knew he sounded a little prickly, but then he did feel somewhat embarrassed by the fact that his mother had not taken his posters down and now Victor was right here, looking at each and every one of them with great interest.

“Yuuuuuuri!” Victor laughed, cheerful and with shining eyes. “Did you?”

Yuuri made a small huffing sound. It was barely heard over Victor’s chuckle.

“That’s actually very flattering and very sexy too, and perhaps we can get to that later, but that’s not what I meant. I was asking about the skating part.” Victor patted the space beside him on Yuuri’s bed. “Come talk to me, my Yuuri. I want to know every little detail about you.”

~ ~ ~

It was one of those days when they were waiting for the Grand Prix assignments to be released that Victor felt catapulted back to Sochi. To the painful minutes when he had watched, shocked and helpless, how Yuuri skated the worst performance of his entire career. This morning’s practice was like a cruel déja vu, leaving their nerves frayed and on edge.

After a series of failed attempts at the quad Salchow Victor called Yuuri over to him. He could feel the anger in him, like the heat of a fire licking up to him the closer Yuuri came. Victor flinched just a little when Yuuri’s hands slammed down hard on the barrier. He was seething.

“Yuuri.” Victor took a deep breath for patience. He was not quite successful. “You’re overthinking. That’s why you flub your jumps.”

“This was a ridiculous idea!” Yuuri snapped. Angry, frustrated tears were glistening in his eyes as the words poured out of him like prisoners breaking free. “It’s impossible to get ready for the Grand Prix in such a short time! You’re wasting your time on me. I’m hopeless, and I’m going to be a disappointment to you. My failures will reflect badly on you, and you took off a season for nothing because I can’t do this!”

“That’s bullshit, Yuuri, and you know it,” Victor said crisply.

Yuuri opened his mouth to speak but something in Victor’s expression made him shut it again. Victor laid his hands over Yuuri’s on the barrier and leaned in close, until his solemn face almost touched Yuuri’s, his gaze like steel trying to pry Yuuri from the thought spiral dragging him downwards.

“Yuuri.” Blue eyes pinned brown ones, every word pointed like a needle with which to pierce the bubbles of doubt holding Yuuri back.

“This sounds clichéd to most other people but _you know_ that when I say it, I say it in the true sense of the meaning - I have _never_ known anyone as strong and persistent as you, Yuuri. I know you have overcome so much worse. I have _seen_ you overcome so much worse. You are the bravest, strongest person I know. And if you forget, or lose sight of it - I was put here to remind you, and make you remember all the great things you are.”

He squeezed Yuuri’s fingers almost painfully tight, then soothed the sting with softest brushes of his thumbs. “You can do this, Yuuri. _You_ can do _anything_!”

They stared at each other, moments of painful ragged breathing making their chests rise and fall.

Victor let go of Yuuri’s hand and stepped back.

“So,” he said softly as he reached for the remote control to the stereo again. “Once more from the top?”

Yuuri nodded. He skated into the centre of the ice and took his position, fingers wiping at his eyes first. Soft piano music started flowing from the speakers and echoed across the ice, extrapolated in Yuuri’s body as he went through his free skate.

Stepping out onto the ice and leaning back against the barrier, Victor watched his every move, one hand flying to his mouth when Yuuri took his words and turned them into music on the ice, every fluid motion a melody much more beautiful than the one before. He wanted to weep with pride and joy, watching with glistening eyes how Yuuri took everything Victor had to offer him and turned it into love on the ice.

Yuuri skated flawlessly. He was ready.

~ St. Petersburg, Russia ~

“Here we are.”

Yuuri turned at the sound of Victor's voice and blinked a couple of times. He had been glued to the car window since they had set out from St. Petersburg and Victor’s apartment, leaving the city behind eventually until more green seeped into view and they reached suburbs comprised of detached houses surrounded by trees and gardens. They had chosen to stay in Russia after the Rostelecom Cup and Yuuri making it into the final six who would take part in this year’s Grand Prix Final. The prospect of cutting down on travelling time and practising at Victor’s home rink instead were too tempting, the chance of sharing time with Victor in his own home and professional training facilities. And Makkachin was well looked after by Yuuri’s family. It had been too good an opportunity to miss.

He looked out at the house Victor had parked right in front of. A brick and wood construction with huge windows, it stood at least two storeys tall in the midst of a number of large trees. To their left, he could see a huge garden, barren now with approaching winter.

“This is beautiful.” Yuuri’s gaze came back to rest on Victor’s face.

“I did what every good son does who succeeds at his work and earns a lot of money.” Victor smiled at him as he undid his seatbelt. “I bought my parents a house.”

Yuuri was aware he was repeating Victor’s motions. The smile. The undoing of his own seatbelt. The eyes cast to the front of the house, where the door now swung open and made Yuuri’s nerves flare up again, not for the first time since Victor had suggested they could visit his parents on the evening before their next day off. Yuuri wanted to, with every morsel of his being. He was merely worried what they might think of him.

“Don’t worry.” As if he had read his mind, Victor leaned over to cup Yuuri’s face with both hands. Kept him grounded. Focussed on the one thing that mattered, Yuuri felt as he immersed himself in the calm blue of Victor’s eyes. “They’re going to love you. They already do.”

They stayed like this another moment, another shared deep breath. Then they opened the doors and got out of the car. For a moment Yuuri felt cold, approaching Russian winter whipping sharply into his face, and then he was warm, welcome, enveloped in the heartfelt kindness that was Victor’s mother.

_“s prijézdom, Yurochka.”_

Yuuri felt it deep inside of him, the thrilling warmth of the diminutive, Victor’s parents skipping all ceremony and welcoming him with the endearment right away. He remembered his own mother greeting Victor the same way, and his heart capsized. 

“It’s very nice to meet you, Mrs Nikiforova.” Yuuri politely shook her hand, an excited blush on his cheeks.

She laughed, loud and cheerful. “Vitya! Did you not tell him what he’s to call me?” she asked her son as she pulled Yuuri into a hug that made him wonder where this strength was hidden in such a slender woman.

Victor tried let her know he had but found it impossible to do so, crushed against his father’s chest.

Letting go, she placed both hands on Yuuri’s shoulders. “You call me Ira. Come inside. I’ve prepared dinner for you. All in sync with your diet!” She threw a glance over her shoulder at Victor, who had already opened his mouth to protest. To Yuuri, she whispered, “Almost!” with a wink.

Victor’s mother wound one arm around Yuuri’s shoulder, her smile as heart-shaped as her son’s, Yuuri realised with an excited flutter of his own heart as he let himself be led inside and gaped. Years of his life he had craved to know these things about Victor, about Victor’s family. Now, he soaked up every small detail like a sponge. The hallway was all white, white walls and panelling, wooden doors leading off to the right painted white, just as the frames of the terrace door far back. Even the marble of a winding staircase leading upstairs to their left was white. 

The momentary cool vibes this gave off vanished the moment they stepped into a large room that looked like a kitchen and living room in one, comfortable and homely, the huge wooden table already laid with what looked like way too much food for the four of them, various salads and vegetable dishes, steaming buckwheat the smell of which reminded Yuuri of soba restaurants at home, and, of course, borscht. The chairs around the table seemed like the most comfortable dining room chairs Yuuri had ever seen.

Yuuri tried to stick to his diet as much as he could, though he hadn’t reckoned with Russian hospitality. His plate was constantly refilled, and he ended up redistributing food onto Victor’s plate repeatedly. They were not even past the main course of a very lean and light beef stroganoff when Yuuri began to understand why Victor had said they’d better place this visit before an off day and stay the night. They would be in no fit state to drive back to the city – Victor’s father brought out the vodka. They drank to their health and to their love, and to having Victor home, and then to Yuuri’s success in the Grand Prix series, and then to the health of Yuuri’s family.

“Your father would love this,” Victor laughed before he took a selfie of the two of them and sent it to Mari in Japan. His cheeks were as pink as Yuuri had last seen him at the Cup of China the night after his short programme, and Yuuri’s own smile widened with the sheer love of the fact that his father would indeed love this and that Victor already knew his family so well.

Dessert was, much to Yuuri’s surprise, a simple vanilla ice-cream in a wafer cup. Victor was over the moon when his mother unceremoniously placed a whole box of it in the middle of the table and Yuuri was informed this was Victor’s favourite ice-cream since his earliest childhood. Yuuri could see it - Victor gobbled down three _plombir_ , then pouted and complained loudly that his mother was always making him eat too much, and downed another vodka.

If Victor’s mother hadn’t forcibly kept them hydrated with tea and water, they would have been far more drunk by the time they made their way upstairs to the room that was Victor’s in his parents’ home.

“Wow…” The word panned out like a breath cut short when Victor opened another one of the white painted doors leading off the spacious and brightly lit landing on the first floor and stepped politely aside to let Yuuri go in first. The polished wooden floor felt smooth under Yuuri’s feet as he walked into the large bedroom and took in the understated colours. Everything was softest shades of pastel brown and lilac, only the canopy above the metal-framed bed was sheer white fabric. A chandelier drew his eyes to the centre of the ceiling. Hanging prominently above the lower end of the bed, it was all chrome arms and teardrop crystals, and each of the eight arms held a lamp shade of the same cream colour as the lamps on the small wooden bedside tables and the large square carpet the bed stood on.

Victor headed into the en-suite bathroom, which left Yuuri a moment to wander around the room.

Suddenly very aware of every potato and every dollop of sour cream he had eaten, and feeling every single glass of vodka happily thrumming through his system, Yuuri first sat down on the wide bed, then let himself fall flat on his back. It felt comfortable, so comfortable in fact that he allowed himself to close his eyes for just one moment. They snapped open when there was a series of loud knocks on the door. Yuuri jumped up and hurried over to the door.

Outside on the landing, Victor’s father stood holding a small silver tray with two white china cups.

“I made you some hot chocolate as a nightcap!” he announced as soon as the door was open and all but shoved the tray at Yuuri so that Yuuri had no choice but to accept it. His smile was not heart-shaped and yet a lot like Victor’s, Yuuri thought, as was the way he talked, soft and enthusiastic at the same time, his accent much stronger than Victor’s but his gentle mannerism just the same.

“Goodnight, Yurochka!”

He was already turning to go back downstairs, leaving Yuuri to reply “Goodnight, and thank you, Sascha!” as he watched him for a moment before he stepped back into the room and kicked the door shut with one foot while balancing the tray in his hands. The fine china cups looked exceedingly slippery on the silver tray.

“Ah. Papa’s special Russian hot chocolate.” Victor beamed when he came closer and took the two mugs from the tray and motioned for Yuuri to follow him to the bed. 

Yuuri climbed on the bed on Victor’s other side like it had become their habit. Without having ever mentioned it with one word, they had automatically slipped into a routine, knowing small details such as who preferred which side of the bed instinctively. It only hit Yuuri now, as he leaned back into the pillows in their back and sat side by side with Victor in a bed they had never shared.

“This doesn’t have more alcohol, does it?” Yuuri asked when he accepted one of the cups from Victor and raised it to his face to give it a closer look. Heat was seeping into his fingertips through the fine porcelain. There was a funny looking pale orange dollop on top.

“It’s sour cream and orange,” Victor, who had been watching him, explained. “You stir it in.”

Yuuri took the spoon sticking out from the cup and started stirring, just like Victor was.

“Hot chocolate? This is pudding!” he exclaimed when he moved the thick mass around and followed Victor’s example in spooning it up and drinking it from the spoon rather than the cup. It tasted delicious. And rich. 

“My coach is going to have a fit when he finds out how many calories I stuffed myself with today.”

“Really?” Victor winked. “Perhaps I should have a word with him. Tell him to let it slip this time.”

“Please do.” Another spoonful went into Yuuri’s mouth and he hummed with appreciation, eyes closed for a moment as he let the chocolate mate with the orange and sour cream on his tongue.

“So.” Yuuri opened his eyes. “You’re Victor Alexandrovich.”

Victor nodded, holding his cup with two hands in front of his chest.

“I’ve been wondering half of my life.” 

“Now you know.” Victor smiled, drank, and a line of chocolate stayed behind just above his upper lip. And Yuuri couldn’t help himself, he leaned over and held his own cup out of the way when he kissed the sweet taste of chocolate and orange off of Victor’s mouth.

“I had a wonderful time tonight,” Yuuri said as he spooned the last of the chocolate from his cup and into his mouth. He set the empty cup down on the bedside table and settled into a more comfortable position, sitting with his back against the wall of pillows, his body turned towards Victor.

“I love seeing you with your parents. It’s something even my most obsessive searching never managed to dig up. Your family. Where you come from. What made you who you are. It’s like your life began when Yakov found you and you started skating at boarding school and Makka is your only family. But you’re actually someone’s son.”

He let the words linger between them for a moment, dance and settle like an extra blanket. “They’re wonderful people. I didn’t know what I expected when I thought about the people you come from.”

“Someone more flamboyant, perhaps?” Victor chuckled as he put his empty cup aside.

Yuuri smiled. “I don’t know. At some point I think I stopped wrecking my brains about it. I thought that if you had parents they would be much more involved in your career, like the parents of so many other Russian skaters. I know many even coached their children themselves. I thought the fact that your parents were never really mentioned could only mean something very sad, and…” He swallowed. “I didn’t want to go there.”

Across the bedspread, Victor’s hand reached for Yuuri’s and held it tight.

“My parents were never keen on being in the limelight. They didn’t want to draw attention just because they’re Victor Nikiforov’s parents. They love to go to the Hermitage and the ballet, but do you think they ever asked me to pull some strings and get them in anywhere for free? Never. Their booth at the Mariinsky, their seasonal tickets for the Hermitage… I gave those to them and they cried bloody murder. They don’t care much about skating either. Very unusual for Russians, I know. They’re a lot like your parents, they watch it for my sake and support me where they can. When I started out they would invite the whole neighbourhood to watch my competitions on their small TV. Letting me go with Yakov…”

He heaved a sigh. “I’ve always felt it broke their hearts. But when I said I was going to buy them a house in St. Petersburg to have them closer to me and be able to see them more often, they didn’t want that either. They said I should save my money and not spend it on my ageing mother and father. Then when I did buy the house they complained it’s too big for the two of them, too lavish.”

Victor rolled his eyes.

“Parents,” Yuuri remarked gently with a shake of his head.

“Parents.” Victor nodded in agreement. A fond smile passed between them.

“I know they love it.” Victor shook his fringe from his face. “Papa bought one of those lawnmowers he can sit on, he loves to go round on it singing Russian folk songs at the top of his voice. And that’s when he’s sober.”

“He should meet _otousan_ , although I shudder to think what they would get up to when they’re drunk.”

“He _should_!”

They laughed at that, until their eyes met and they became serious as the meaning of the words settled on them. Families meeting. Lives entwining and blending into one.

“So… these probably make a hell of a lot of noise during sex, huh?” Eager to change the subject, Yuuri gave one of the bedposts a shake with one hand closed around the metal bar. A faint creak was heard.

Yuuri’s wicked grin sobered up when he saw the faint blush creep over Victor’s face.

“I wouldn’t know, Yuuri, I...” Victor cleared his throat. “I’ve never brought anyone home I would have stayed the night and slept with under my parents’ roof.”

Yuuri gaped. Blinked confused behind his glasses. He had _never_ seen Victor this flustered before.

“Never?” Yuuri leaned in closer, fascinated by the tingle of nerves he was sure he could feel in Victor.

“Never.” Victor didn’t budge, until Yuuri’s face was just a mere inch away.

“You know what, I think my coach would be really pleased if I worked off some of those calories.” Yuuri cast him a lingering glance from under his lashes. Normally that would have turned Victor into a wickedly possessive man who didn’t hesitate to get his hands on Yuuri and his clothes off of him, but here and now, Victor faltered. He probably wasn’t aware of it, the smallest flitting of his eyes towards the door and what lay behind it.

“Yuuuuri…” Victor murmured. “Where does all this Eros come from all of a sudden? I’m beginning to think you _like_ being the first person I consider worthy of bringing home.”

Yuuri felt a little of his competitive excitement come on, but at the sight of Victor’s face he laughed softly. He was absolutely delighted. “You’re nervous!” 

“To think I had to live to twenty-seven to freak out because I’m having sex with my parents just down the hall.” Victor grimaced, already reaching for Yuuri. “We’ll have to be really quiet.”

“Weren’t we really quiet all summer long in Hasetsu?” An angelic smile on his face that totally belied the Eros in his eyes and body, Yuuri rolled them over until he had Victor pinned underneath him and shut his mouth with a kiss.

Afterwards, they cuddled under the two heavy blankets, and Victor started talking, stories about those days when he was small and just Irina and Alexander’s son, and the day Yakov discovered him and his talent for skating, and the day he left home. About the countless Russian winter nights he lay awake cold and lonely in an unheated dormitory with nothing to cling to but his dreams of a Yuuri who kept him warm with the comfort in his deep brown eyes and his promise of a love like forever and his kisses like a dream. 

Yuuri pressed a kiss against Victor’s damp temple. He kissed his eyelids and his nose and every inch of his face until his lips found Victor’s mouth and he kissed him like all his dreams come true.

The smile was audible in Yuuri’s voice even though it remained invisible in the dark.

“Goodnight, my Victor Alexandrovich.”

~ Barcelona, Spain~

When Yuuri was twenty-four, he broke one of Victor’s world records and won the silver medal at the Grand Prix Final. His coach was Victor Nikiforov.

“Yura! You’re _reading_!” Victor laughed when he walked into the locker room where he found Yuri Plisetsky on a mat on the floor beside a bench, legs split on the floor as he stretched his upper body until his elbows came down on the floor between them. A book was placed right there where his hands rested on his elbows.

“Aren’t books so outdated?” Victor winked, remembering how he presented Yura with the gift he had brought him from Ireland. Yura had looked at the thick book on Irish history and then at Victor like he had been gravely insulted. Then he’d lashed out at him that this was not the kind of present he’d wanted and that books were totally outdated and nobody was reading them anymore.

Now, Yura made a sound that was somewhere between a huff and a snarl.

“You’re mean, teasing him like this without him knowing what you’re on about.”

Victor turned slightly when Yuuri walked in and appeared by his side, hands brushing casually beside them, Victor’s hand coming up to skim over the small of Yuuri’s back for the briefest moment.

“Yuuri, you’re familiar with his temper by now,” Victor murmured quietly and leaned in until they stood nearly cheek to cheek, both looking at Yura. “How do you think he would react if we told him he’s lived before and was an English politician by day and an underground rebel fighting for Irish independence by night?”

“I think he might like the fact that he helped a country accomplish freedom,” Yuuri murmured back.

“Hey.” Yura looked up and gave a Yuuri a nod that was almost friendly, considering his usual temper.

“Good book?” Yuuri asked casually as he sat down on the bench near him.

Yura made a low sound of approval. “One of the guys they suspect to have been behind a lot of these revolutionary activities was actually named Plisetsky.”

Victor and Yuuri exchanged a glance. “Wow, really?” they said almost simultaneously.

“It’s pretty cool.” Yura blushed a little, before he added, directed at Victor, “Doesn’t mean I like reading books!”

Victor turned his back on him pretending to be busy, when in truth he was merely fearing his knowing smile would wind Yura up again. He couldn’t help looking at the two of them though from time to time, with a deep sense of recognition and peace in his heart at the sight of Yura seeking out Yuuri’s company. Victor knew his young rink mate harboured a lot of respect and admiration for Yuuri. He just had a very interesting, feisty way of expressing himself.

Phichit and Chris arrived together, the locker rooms slowly filling with the skaters who had fought hard over the medals over the past days and were now ready to show off their exhibitions.

They ended up in the same corner of the locker room as if by nature, best friends and something more now, because - much to Victor’s glee and Yuuri’s entertainment - Phichit and Chris had stayed in rather extensive touch ever since Ireland and were now in a long-distance relationship that caused both their coaches immense satisfaction because it meant that they worked extra hard to make sure they qualified for competitions, where they would be able to see each other.

Chris gave an update on how Aidan was getting along with digging up more on the Giacometti family, and how he had sent Chris some more pictures of the Lady Helen and her children.

“And it’s _really_ okay for you that I’m not a voluptuous blond vixen with huge tits?” Phichit asked Chris, eyebrows wriggling as he could barely contain his cheeky grin.

Victor laughed out loud without inhibition, while Yuuri by his side shook his head at Phichit with a grin.

Yuuri’s phone buzzed with an incoming message and he glanced at the screen, grinned and held the picture up for the other three to see.

“Your fathers do get on like a house on fire,” Phichit commented, and Victor pulled Yuuri’s hand towards himself by the wrist so that they could both bend over the screen together, heads stuck together as they looked at the picture Yuuko had taken back home in Hasetsu where another public viewing party was well on the way. Victor’s parents had spontaneously decided to travel to Japan, claiming they had never been there after all, leaving Victor gaping because they had organised everything themselves without even giving him a chance to have a say in their flight or hotel bookings. Right at this moment they were staying in Yuuri’s parents’ inn in Hasetsu, which in turn had taken Yuuri by surprise, Mari mentioning when she flew in to Barcelona with Minako that Victor’s parents were absolutely delightful and loved their parents’ onsen.

“I wish I was there,” Yuuri sighed, and it was not quite clear whether he was referring to the two poodles bouncing into the picture or their two sets of parents beaming at the camera, or the bowls of katsudon on the table in front of them.

“Soon,” Victor promised, his chin on Yuuri’s shoulder, forehead resting against Yuuri’s hair.

When it was time for Yuuri to take to the ice, Victor did not hold on to his jacket and skate guards like he normally did but placed them on a nearby chair, asking an official to keep a close eye on them. His arms moved behind his body in a stretch the moment he had his hands free. Yakov raised an inquisitive eyebrow at him, but Victor just gave him his brightest smile and turned his attention on the ice and the man who was currently announced on the loudspeakers.

“The men’s single silver medalist - representing Japan, Yuuri Katsuki.”

Up in the commentator’s cabin, Hisashi Morooka glanced at the notes on the sheet of paper in front of him, taken earlier when he had gotten his brief pre-exhibition interview slot with Yuuri. Now, watching the figure on the ice, he leaned into his microphone and quietly delivered his additional information for the Japanese audience.

“His exhibition was choreographed by Victor Nikiforov. Katsuki-kun has said that this is an exclusive skate he is going to perform only once, here at the Grand Prix Final. It is called _Anam Cara_ \- the Celtic expression for the deep connection between soul mates.”

The silence did not cease when the music started and Yuuri began to skate. Almost as if the sounds of the instrumental that filled the arena forbade unnecessary noise, barely a sound came from the audience, even the applause acknowledging a flawless jump or sequence was restrained and respectful. It was a harp recital of ‘The Fields of Athenry’ that Yuuri had chosen for the first part of his exhibition, his expression as subdued as his postures and gestures were powerful while he skated a heartbreaking tale of loss and grief. He ended on his knees on the ice, face buried in his hands like someone crying painful tears of sorrow and embitterment.

For a moment it was quiet. Then the yearning sound of a lone fiddle wove out across the ice and Yuuri rose slowly to his feet, moved in a lonely dance, years of ballet visible in every turn and every graceful stretch of his limbs. He jumped a double-triple combination before he came to stand still with his arms wrapped around himself, head poised in the direction of the barrier, his face flushed and his chest heaving with ragged breaths, his smile all excitement and anticipation.

Nothing but the haunting beat of a bodhrán pounded through the speakers like an awakening for a moment. Then an ensemble of fiddle, whistle and pipes joined in, and a roar went through the entire hall.

Skating up to him, movements flawlessly elegant even in this teasing and flirty choreography that was meant to pull Yuuri into a dance, was Victor. Yuuri followed him with his eyes as he circled him playfully, ran one hand around Yuuri’s waist before their eyes met and they moved apart a little, right feet coming down in a stomp like an announcement that made shards of ice fly underneath their blades. Their costumes were matching ensembles of black and green, Victor’s a slightly darker, richer green whereas Yuuri’s was the bright shimmering colour of a landscape washed clean by a recent downpour. Different patterns shimmered in silver stitches and sequins on the back, Victor’s an intricate never-ending Celtic triquetra, Yuuri’s the delicate opposite pairs of multiple leaflets that made up the leaf of an ash tree.

It was more of a dance than a pair skate. There _were_ elements, jumps even. But there was something else.

For a moment Victor had the ice all to himself, an untouchable legend in the spotlight, only the bodhrán sounding out again like a lonely beat of a single heart as he went through steps and jumps completely void of emotion. An emptiness spoke from his every move. It was Victor Nikiforov impersonating a mechanic version of himself, perfect elements performed by a perfect person without passion, without a heart.

Without soul.

The fiddle came in again, a more cheerful, younger sounding melody enveloping the drums like new life springing from the earth in springtime, and there was Yuuri, skating around Victor in closer and closer circles. Jumping the flip. A single first. Eyeing each other across the ever shrinking distance, it became a challenge between them, a connection, and then a mirror. Yuuri jumped another flip, double this time, then triple. They were close now, interacting in motion. Victor jumped a perfect quad flip. Waited for Yuuri, smile tugging on the corners of his mouth, coaxing and coaching alike. Yuuri skated around him again, watching, acting out hesitation. They played out their own story on the ice. Somewhere in the audience and far away in Japan, Mari and Minako and Yuuko cried hot, happy tears over Yuuri’s dreams of skating with Victor come true.

The quadruple flip Yuuri performed was the last real skating element. Yuuri’s already stunning step sequences were something else entirely now as they came together. Everything changed the moment they met, pulling their story onto the ice and telling it with their souls. Feet skipping in small, fast steps as they moved forward side by side with their shoulders almost touching, then faced each other again to spin around, hands holding on to each other’s waist while their feet moved on the ice with the unmistakable steps of an Irish jig. The music picked up speed and power as they danced, moving in perfect synch.

The audience went wild, while by the barrier, waiting with Yura whose turn was coming up soon, Yakov couldn’t believe his eyes, mumbling under his breath to Lilia that he understood now why that idiot Vitya had insisted they had the rink all to themselves when they were practising their exhibition skate.

“They are fucking mad doing this on ice!” Yakov barked to anyone who was close enough to hear it. “They’re going to break their legs or worse!”

“Oi, Yakov! Teach me something like this too!” Yura almost yelled. “No! Teach me something _better_!”

Yakov’s reply was a hefty lecture of Russian expletives that did nothing to improve Yura’s mood.

A few metres away from them Phichit was crying buckets.

“They’re fucking crazy!” he sobbed out between his fingers as he looked up at Chris with one hand clamped before his mouth like he, too, was fretting they could have a bad fall any moment. It looked reckless, and stunningly beautiful.

“That they are.” Chris placed one arm around his shoulder and gave him a little squeeze. “But who would pull it off but these two?”

They watched their best friends together, eager not to miss even one moment of what they knew they would never see again. Bloody Victor, Chris thought affectionally, after all these years he still managed to catch him completely off guard. Nobody, Chris would have bet good money on it, had seen this coming. Victor Nikiforov not only joining Yuuri Katsuki on the ice for a pair skate but they were adding Irish dancing elements that had everyone gaping. They actually added in one or two toned down versions of the traditional kicks, not as high as they were meant to be but enough to send the crowd into a frenzy and everyone who had ever been on ice themselves nearly into cardiac arrest.

Arms raised in right angles they touched palm to palm as they turned in one last perfectly mirrored spin as the music lost some of its vigour. Only the drums sounded erratic when Yuuri and Victor came apart and finished side by side, holding each other by the hands between them and faces turned towards each other on the final step. They held their finishing pose for a few moments of beatific smiles and flushed faces and chests heaving out of breath, unaware of the crowd going absolutely ballistic all around them.

Yakov barely had time to release the breath of relief that he’d been holding back for the past five minutes when his jaw dropped all over again and he stared wide-eyed at the pair on the ice, the image of their clasped hands projected on countless screens right at this moment.

“… what the _fuck_!” Yura snapped beside him. Yakov had never agreed more.

The cameras zoomed in on their hands just like a secret signal had been sent out by the glimpse of gold.

On the ice, Yuuri and Victor were turned towards each other again, looking into each other’s eyes like the besotted dorks Yakov knew they were, foreheads almost touching as they smiled and still tried to catch their breaths. Their left hands were entwined, and it was unmissable. On their left hands, they were wearing rings.

Social media exploded the moment the pictures were aired.

They hadn’t even left the ice when speculations already ran high, all possible and impossible meanings of matching golden Claddagh rings thrown out on screenshots posted on Twitter and Instagram. Everything was taken apart with the obsessive meticulousness only devoted fans display, from the debate about which hand a wedding ring was worn on to the direction the heart faced and whether this meant an engagement or a wedding or nothing at all because non-Celtic people couldn’t possibly know how to wear a Claddagh ring correctly.

“Did _you_ just reply to one of these comments?” Chris was leaning over Phichit’s shoulder, peeking at the phone screen where Phichit was just finishing up typing _Oh, but isn’t it the other way round in Japan??_ as a reply to a comment saying _Those are NOT wedding rings! Wedding rings are worn on the right hand in Russia!_

“Maybe?” Phichit sent his comment and pocketed his phone, smug grin on his face as he leaned just the slightest bit back into Chris.

“You’re a menace.” Chris chuckled lowly against his ear. “People are going crazy enough already over their rings without you adding fuel to the fire.”

The first thing Yuuri saw when he stepped off the ice and picked up his phone after putting his skate guards on was a message from Yuuko. It opened into a picture of what he figured where four hands held together comparing wedding rings - his parents’ worn on the left hand, Victor’s parents wearing theirs on the right hand. Yuuko’s message was brief:

_Both your parents are confused._

He showed his phone to Victor and translated Yuuko’s message for him. Victor laughed.

They left the rink hand in hand and through a side exit, dodging curious journalists’ questions with smiles and well-practiced diversions from their private life to Yuuri’s skating.

Later that evening, they were sitting in a small outdoor tapas restaurant. Mari was showing off the pictures she had received from Hasetsu on her phone. Yuuri and Victor’s fathers drunk-dancing with strange comical faces painted on their bare bellies. Their mothers and what looked like every other person present as well spooning Victor’s father’s famous Russian hot chocolate into their mouths from Japanese tea cups. The Nishigori triplets eating their way through a box of _plombir_ with a scolding Yuuko just visible on the edge of the picture. A large and a small poodle curled up beside the _kotatsu_.

Yuuri watched Victor fawning over the pictures together with Mari and wanted to clutch his heart. Across the table he caught Minako’s eye and she grinned, probably guessing what was going on in his head at the sight of Victor being so close with his sister.

Yuuri cleared his throat and looked to his left, only to find Phichit watching him closely. They started grinning automatically, the connection between them too close to not read one another’s mind. Meanwhile Chris started very smoothly to pester Victor about the meaning of their rings again. Victor brought up his left hand from where he was holding Yuuri’s right hand under the table and held it up for Chris to see.

“Left hand. Ring finger. Heart pointing _this_ way.” Victor smiled and returned his hand to entwine his fingers with Yuuri’s once more. “The internet is your friend, Chris.”

“ _You_ clearly are not,” Chris sighed good-humouredly, but their eyes were sparkling with mirth.

“So, you guys… what’s next?” Phichit took another piece of baked potato with spicy tomato sauce from one of the many serving dishes assembled on the table between them all, blew on it a couple of times, and popped it into his mouth. Then hissed all around it because it was obviously still piping hot.

“World’s, obviously,” Victor said smoothly and drank a sip from his beer. “There are still some asses to kick.”

He looked around the table, at Phichit, Chris, Otabek and especially Yura, who had snatched the gold medal from Yuuri by a ridiculously narrow lead in points. The reactions around the table were very mixed.

Yura looked up from his phone. “Mila and Georgi are already in some club with Emil and the Crispinos, they want to know if we’ll join them after dinner.” He grimaced. “Stupid hag, she knows exactly I won’t be let into any clubs.”

“Perhaps we can try to make an exception happen and get you in.” Victor smirked and winked at him. “If nobody here mentions anything to Yakov or Lilia.” He looked pointedly at everyone around the table.

Chris chuckled with the wisdom of someone who had witnessed too many of these moments of rebellion over the years. “Watch it. It’s Victor fucking Nikiforov, losing Yakov his remaining hair.”

“Really?” Yura looked hopefully at Victor. It wasn’t that he wanted to lose his shit in a club. He just didn’t want to be left behind when everyone else still went out. But he was surprised that Victor seemed to know.

“We’ll see,” Victor smiled.

“We have been talking about some things, to Yakov too,” Yuuri said and picked up his own glass to drink. He noticed very well that Phichit’s and Chris’ and Minako’s eyes went to the ring on his hand immediately.

“I hope you’re really coming to St. Petersburg,” Yura told him. “If we train together I can keep a close eye on you and you won’t be able to surprise me with stuff like your exhibition again!”

“It’s not decided yet. First we’ll see this season through.” Yuuri blushed a little, knowing that this was just Yura’s very roundabout way of stating that he would actually love to have Yuuri as a rink mate.

Meeting his sister’s eyes, Yuuri felt himself go still. Mari smirked.

“Don’t look at me like that, little brother,” she said in her accented English. “I’ll support you no matter what you decide to do. Wherever you decide to go.”

Her attention returned to the honey-glazed eggplant slices, and Yuuri felt himself relax, tension falling off him as an old fear had momentarily raised its head, the fear that he was leaving his sister alone to help their parents with the onsen while he went off across the world pursuing dreams. Perhaps some old fears would never be really gone. Most probably new ones would pop up unexpectedly. He felt Victor’s thumb cease its brushing motions over the back of his hand the moment his tension wore off, like Victor, too, felt Yuuri was relaxing. And Yuuri knew from the small gesture that whatever anxiety was lurking in his future, he would not have to face it alone.

Conversation picked up again, laughter and different kinds of accented English flying back and forth across the table under a string of lanterns on this Spanish night, several forks reaching out into the middle of the table to pick food from the selection of tapas they had ordered to share between all of them.

Yuuri and Victor looked at each other. The hands resting between them, Victor’s clasped over Yuuri’s on Yuuri’s thigh, entwined just a little more. Without inhibition, a smile unfolded between them.

They didn’t need to say the words. They carried them inside their past and present and into their future. They carried them inside their heart and soul.

Every place they were together was home.

~ Epilogue ~

When Yuuri was twenty-five, he stood at the top of the podium at the Grand Prix Final and accepted his gold medal. Beside him, silver against his chest gleaming as beautifully as his hair, Victor was smiling far more happily than any legendary figure skater in his last season had a right to be. The margin Yuuri had beat him at had been minimal, after the short programme Victor had been in the lead. They were very much on the same level.

It wasn’t the fact that they both giggled over the announcer calling their names like they were technically incorrect now. In his last season, Victor Nikiforov was not Victor Nikiforov anymore, although the ink on the compound name was barely dry in his new passport yet.

It wasn’t the kiss they sneaked in when they huddled together on the podium for press photographs with Yura and his bronze medal and an exasperated glare on his face when he saw them kissing.

It was a random Twitter post by a fan who had noticed a small, almost overlooked detail.

On the ring fingers of their left hands, the hearts in their golden rings now pointed inwards.

They were married.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The actual story ends here. There is, however, a little bonus chapter that came to me one night as I was making cake. It takes us back to the past, in which Yuuri and Victor met for the first time. They do show up. It's funny and romantic, as my wonderful test readers told me. It was meant to be for Chris. As usual with me, it became much more. I'm not sorry. :D


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse for this other than that I felt Chris deserved it.

**_Diary of Lady Helen Agatha Rosemary Giacometti, née Spenser, Countess of Lovelace._ **

_Papa wants to marry me off to the Earl of Lovelace. What a ridiculous name! I told Papa I refuse to wed anyone. He did not seem impressed, but there has not yet been a thing Papa has refused me if only I proved persistent enough._

♡

_I feel most dreadful today. Papa refuses to me let me out of this engagement. Were I a son and not a daughter, he would not dare! I was so distressed that I very nearly forgot to hide my books of improper art and literature before Mama came to my room to summon me for tea. What dark days, when not even the secret possession of my books will lighten my mood! I do take such great pride and joy in hiding their existence from Mama and Papa normally. It is all Papa’s fault for wanting to sell me like cattle to some scoundrel. I spent three hours crying until my maid came in to distract me with the latest gossip._

♡

_I have asked some of our most trusted servants to make very discreet inquiries about the Earl of Lovelace. Alas! I find what I hear most distressful. The man is a shameless flirt and a heartbreaker. He has had more affairs than I have dresses in my wardrobe. There are no words that could possibly grasp my anger with Papa._

♡

_Papa insists that my wedding that man is profitable for our family’s standing in both the business and the aristocratic circles. I have decided to despise this Earl of Lovelace on sight and be on my worst behaviour!_

♡

_The impertinent man has dared to ask to correspond with me so we can get to know one another before we are officially introduced. I shall do no such thing and return all his letters, as well as all his gifts!_

_Perhaps I will keep only the silver comb with sapphires, they go so well with my eyes!_

♡

_I have not even met the man and am already as outraged as I have never been in all my life. This morning in his gentlemen’s club Papa was approached by the Earl, who enquired with great concern whether he has upset me in any way since all his letters are returned to him unread. Never before have I seen Papa this angry with me._

_Papa insists that from now on he will watch personally over every letter that leaves my desk and make sure that proper replies are sent to this impertinent man. So I did write a letter, asking this one simple question - How am I expected to care for a man who conspires with my father to my disadvantage?_

_I received several pages of the most flowery and stilted apology today. Not even in my most beloved romantic novel have I ever come across a more pompous ode to one’s own faults. I cannot help but feel impressed. I cannot deny that the box of finest Swiss chocolates that came with the letter does make my resolve waver. They are most delicious. I know I did say I was not going to accept any presents from the man, but if I have to suffer through his dreadfully boring letters, I might at least make the most use of his gifts._

♡

_My face is burning as red as the embers in our grand fireplace! I have just this moment received a reply to my last letter to the Earl, in which I had included, for spite, a page torn from one of my hidden books, a most beautiful sketch of a naked man’s body that I do admit I was a little saddened to see gone. The response is most shameful, and I barely dare look at it:_

“I thought the drawing you included with your letter not unattractive. However, you will find once we are married that my own physique is at least as attractive, if not more.

♡

_The most curious thing happened tonight! The Earl of Lovelace was pointed out to me at a dance, and found him not at all unpleasant to look at. This is most inconvenient to my plan!_

♡

_We have not been properly introduced so I am keeping my distance and watching him from afar. I am most appalled by his generous bestowing of his charms onto every woman who crosses his path, and I am already tired knowing I will have to watch his every move once we are betrothed. His friend Nikiforov on the other hand! What a beautiful, sweet man. My heart does the most silly things when he as much as looks and smiles my way._

♡

_Lord Nikiforov has had relations with men! My heart is broken! And tonight I am to be introduced to the man I am to marry. I am in no fit state to meet anyone!_

♡

_We returned from the ball at the Ashburys’ these two hours ago and sleep will not come. The Earl of Lovelace was most charming. I am still most irritated, and my mind refuses to rest._

♡

_Now that have we been formerly introduced, there is no escaping the Earl. I am being courted. There was another dance tonight, and I could not find my dance card for the longest time. When it was returned to me, every single dance was reserved by that shameless man. Papa is most satisfied. My poor feet are not._

♡

_It is exhausting having to accept every invitation just to get to know a man! A changed man from what I expected, too, for I do not have a moment’s peace. All his attention he used to bestow so generously on every woman in his vicinity is now on me, and me only. I feel positively drained._

♡

_For tonight’s ball at the Baron of Wolseley’s my dance card mysteriously went missing. Mama was quite mad and started picking my rooms apart with the maid’s help. However, my indecent books and the card I placed in one of them are so well hidden that even her most meticulous search would not find them._

_Alas, even a misplaced dance card did not make the Earl stray from my side. Next time I shall behave more improperly!_

♡

_Papa is most mad with me for I hurt my ankle. I almost smiled and gave my charade away. Yes, I do know it is most wrong to feign an injury but I am running out of excuses to avoid dancing with the Earl and encouraging him. I have yet hope he may grow bored of me and decide on courting someone else instead so that I can stay free and independent._

_I have just this moment returned home, and my face is burning up with a blush that refuses to go away. The Earl would not leave my side all evening and insisted on sitting with me while I rested my twisted ankle. I cannot even deny that I find the stories he has to tell most entertaining. And that I am most surprised to find that he shares my mischievous joy in watching people all evening and gleefully pointing out their ridiculous dress or behaviour._

_As he saw me off by our carriage - and despite all I am proud of my limp, I firmly believe it is one of my finest acting accomplishments yet! - he leaned half in by the window, holding on to my hand and daring to breathe yet another kiss over the silk of my glove, while he told me very quietly but with the most devious smirk around his lips that he hopes my right ankle will recover just as quickly as my left did over the course of the evening. It was only then that I became aware I had left the ball with a limp in the other foot than when I had arrived. Mama believed my burning face all the way home due to the Earl’s unabashed flirting even in front of her. Let her believe it! The shameful truth is much too hard to bear already without Mama knowing what I have done and how easily the Earl saw through me. Could I have met my match in devious mischief?_

♡

_With Papa out of town on business I have decided to face and forego Mama’s wrath and wear the dress that came all the way from France to tonight’s ball at the Baroness’. The cut of the neckline is most frivolous, and Mama has been screaming these two hours throughout the house that she refuses to accompany me to the ball should I insist dressing like a French king’s hussy. I met my maid’s eyes in the mirror as she dressed my hair, and I am proud to say that she giggled when I muttered that had I known it was this easy to escape Mama’s hawk eyes, I would have worn French dresses a long time ago._

_Much to my dismay, my plan to scare off the Earl by wearing a scandalous dress failed. He would not leave my side all evening, nor would his eyes leave my décolletage._

_A poem arrived with a letter this morning - a poem as frivolous as my dress last night, for quite clearly, the Earl spent the night after the ball composing verses that praise the beauty of my décolletage and liken it to the mountains in the country of his Swiss forefathers. I blushed so hard and laughed so loud at the breakfast table that Mama decided to speak to me again, if only to reprimand my unladylike behaviour._

♡

_Mama woke me most rudely today. I was up all night and most of the morning trying to compose a poem that would match his poem in wit, craftsmanship, and vulgarity. After this I was so tired that I slept all day and almost missed tea. Tea to which, might I add, the Earl and his esteemed mother were expected. Quite clearly he received my poem already, for whenever I looked up from hiding a yawn behind my fan, there was the most mischievous glimmer in his eyes and a smirk playing around his lips._

♡

_In a final attempt to appall the man and leave a bad impression, I quietly remarked at the Lamperts’ music soiree how much I would enjoy a drink. A most scandalous thing for a young lady to say, Papa for sure would have punished me had he overheard. The Earl did not show the least sign of shock, and he did not say this was a most inappropriate thing to say for a woman. Instead he leaned in closer and murmured to me that if I could find a place where I was hidden out of sight enough for me to enjoy that drink unseen, he would gladly fetch me a glass of whatever spirit I desire. Oh he has such a smooth, intriguing voice!_

_My face as I tried to force the disgustingly smoky and burning whisky down my throat must have greatly amused the Earl, for I am sure I could see him trying to fight a smile with all might as we sipped our drinks together in silence, hidden in the badly lit part of the garden watching the people walking about on the terrace and grounds. When I handed him my empty glass I was sure to detect respect in his gaze. But how pleasant, to just be silent with someone, and not feel expected to speak unless I choose to!_

♡

_This morning, we had not quite finished breakfast, the Earl called on us and asked to speak to me in private. Papa and Mama were most surprised about the request, Papa especially, for he had already risen from his seat, ready to see the Earl to his study for what he no doubt believed was finalising the agreement. His stunned expression as he sank back down on his chair would have made me laugh, had I not been so completely taken by surprise._

_My face is burning as I write these words, and at the same time I want to laugh again! In the library, after making sure all doors were firmly closed on prying parents and servants, the Earl of Lovelace went down on one knee and formally asked for my hand in marriage. Asked ME, not Papa, despite all the talks they already had on the matter! Treating me like my opinion is of importance. Like any of the agreements he has already made with Papa could still be overthrown._

_I asked for a little time to think about this sudden possibility of hope opening to me, hope to get out of this marriage I was so sure I do not want._

_He asked for nothing in return by my presence at his birthday celebrations later this week._

_Oh what will I do???_

♡

_The Earl’s birthday celebrations were quite the lavish affair, as was to be expected. I will admit I have not felt so shy in his presence since all of this started._

_Despite his having so many guests to bestow his attention on, I was well aware of the Earl seeking my eye or my presence as much as was possible to him. Lord Nikiforov, too, his best friend, was most charming and most attentive, showing me around the house and the gardens and praising the Earl’s qualities like he was trying to win me over on his behalf. To think that only a few months ago I would have given a small world to find myself in Lord Nikiforov’s presence like this, while last night I surprised myself with how eagerly I awaited the return of the Earl to our side, just to see that mischievous smile on his face and that light shimmering in his eyes. His very beautiful, green eyes, might I add._

♡

_We are invited to dine with one of Papa’s oldest business partners. I so dread these dinners. They stretch on forever, and the soup is always too cold, the meat too chewy, the conversation too dull.I am sure Mama feels the same way about them, but after we already feigned migraines the last two times to escape these invitations, we will have to accommodate Papa tonight and go._

_Last night’s dinner took an unexpected turn when the Earl walked in and sweet-talked our hostess into letting him have the seat next to mine. I did not like the way I sat up straighter when I heard the sound of his smooth, deep voice in the hallway, or the way my heart pounded faster in my chest when he walked through the door into the dining room. But I very much liked how he kept leaning over to joke with me about all I despise so much about these dinners, and how we laughed so much all evening, so much in fact that he turned the dullest event of the season into a pleasant experience._

_Most of all I liked how he rescued me from our hostess’ usual attempts at preaching piety and an ascetic life to me. As he led me away under the pretense of fetching me at Mama’s bidding when she had said nothing of the sort, the promise of a much more entertaining time in his presence suddenly felt almost like a premonition._

♡

_I am now officially betrothed._

_After a sleepless night following that fateful dinner, I had a message dispatched to the Earl, asking to speak to him in private and give him my answer. If I have to marry at all, I want at least to enjoy myself as much as possible. I have no doubt that in the company of this man, I shall at least not be bored. As for the other aspects of marriage, I am determined to accommodate myself with them as well as I can for my own benefit._

♡

_Oh how this afternoon drained me of all life! Now that I am engaged, Mama has taken it upon herself to educate me on the physical aspects expected of me when I am married. Since I cannot possibly tell her that I am theoretically well educated on many more physical aspects than she can ever know, thanks to the books I keep so secretly hidden, there was nothing more for me to do than blush fiercely behind my fan on Mama’s behalf and squeak with utter discomfort into my hands._

♡

_My first ball as a betrothed woman was quite entertaining. Suddenly young men were falling over themselves trying for a spot on my dance card, however, all of them had been taken by dear Victor, as I am calling Lord Nikiforov now, and my fiancé already. If I had the slightest worry that the Earl’s behaviour towards me might change once I have agreed to marry him, they were quite dispersed tonight, latest when we shared a glass of whisky between us on a stroll through the faintly lit end of the garden, laughing and whispering about the other people in attendance, especially those who are most certainly not supposed to be walking arm in arm in the dark gardens as they are married to other people._

_Though I am not quite ready to call him Christophe, like he asked me to, I will say one thing in favour of the man’s unconventional ways which I find is rather important to know before one gets married: He is most talented with his mouth!_

♡

_My fiancé took me out to the opera tonight. It was the most dreadfully boring performance I have had to see these two seasons. I found I could not stop myself from yawning and decided my mouth might be better otherwise occupied. My fiancé did not complain, in fact, I took the way his hands gripped the armrests of his seat so tightly for encouragement. I have never seen him look at me quite as much in love yet as I have tonight when the lights came back on, only moments after I was back in my seat like nothing happened._

♡

_My wedding dress appears to be too tight. Mama is furious. I was able to prevent her from complaining to the tailors by confessing I have been eating the Swiss chocolates my fiancé has sent with his letters over many weeks now._

♡

_Today is my wedding day. Papa has not been able to stop smiling those past few days, though I guess he is mostly happy about his whole scheme working out. Mama is close to a nervous breakdown, trying to oversee all the preparations herself and working our staff to the bone._

_As for me, I do feel quite composed. Last I saw the Earl for a stroll in Hyde Park we were allowed to take together three days ago, dear Victor with us as a chaperone approved of by my parents. Whenever I feel angry with Mama or Papa, it gives me great mischievous glee to imagine my confessing to them that dear Victor always left us quite alone and undisturbed at the first opportunity like the best of friends that he is._

_Messages have been going back and forth between the Earl and myself, his making me blush as furiously as always for he has been much less hesitant with his promises regarding our wedding night and the time that is to follow than I have been myself. Every woman should keep some secrets to herself._

♡

_I was unable to write for three days for indeed I only just left my marital bed! Now I find myself unable to do anything_ but _write. I have never felt such pleasant exhaustion in all my life. And oh, I wish I could paint and keep the surprise on my new husband’s face for eternity when we were alone at last and he came to bed with all the determination of a man ready to conquer a new world… unawares that he was about to be turned over onto his back and conquered himself. After the initial surprise, he was most pleasantly accommodating until the sun came up._

_Dear Victor called this morning, concerned for his friend’s wellbeing after three days, no doubt. I could not hold back laughter as I watched from the upper landing, my husband making his way into the salon on trembling legs, greeting dear Victor with the words, ‘My friend! I am wrecked!’ and dear Victor’s reply ‘I thought as much!’ almost drowned out by his laughter._

♡

_As I am getting acquainted with my new home I have come across my husband’s study and was most appalled. The man has so sense of order where his desk is concerned! Much to the amusement of the household staff I have taken it upon myself to bring his papers in order. It was quite by accident that I chanced to look at some of his business contracts. Helping Papa with his work has taught me quite a lot, and under no circumstances will I let my own husband be taken advantage of by shady business partners._

♡

_My husband, having learned my full name at our wedding, is taking far too much pleasure in calling me by my second and third name if he sees fit. The devilish smirk around his mouth when he called me ‘Agatha’ at the breakfast table, twice!, had me whack him over the head with the newspaper. I wish I could say that it stopped his mirth. He now calls me ‘Helen’ when we have an argument and ‘Agatha’ when he teases. He calls me ‘Rosemary’ when we are alone._

♡

_I am with child. My husband is overjoyed and refuses to leave my side, but then he has always been an unconventional man. Both our parents are also overjoyed, although the well meant sermons delivered by both our mothers as we all had tea together quite tired me out and unsettled me. I was very glad when my husband sat by my side in the carriage home and did not maintain the distance our mothers so fervently recommend now._

♡

_We have a son! He is the most beautiful, pudgiest little angel one can imagine. We named him Alexander, though dear Victor calls him Sascha, and I call him my chubby baby._

_My husband has yet surprised me again when he dispatched messages to both our families kindly asking to refrain from calls as we desire time to ourselves and to acquaint ourselves with life as a family. Mama must be beside herself with the rage, thinking it quite scandalous behaviour. I am mostly glad. I have no wish to change out of my dressing gown to receive visitors when I can comfortably stay in it all day, hair in disarray, marvelling at the weight of my son in my arms and the light twinkling in his big blue eyes._

_As for my husband - I am most surprised. He is so unlike any other father I have ever come across. Instead of staying away from the child like it is common for the men in our circles once they have accomplished the task of fathering them, he spends a considerable amount of time in the nursery. He does not even shy away from sitting or crawling on the floor for the simple reason of entertaining our son._

♡

_Tonight I attended a ball for the first time since my son was born. We danced the night away and had the most entertaining conversations with much loved friends. I believe dear Victor is very much in love with a mysterious young man who keeps sending him letters. It is quite adorable to behold. I did not know the Baroness had a nephew, and I have always loved a good mystery._

_It quite enjoyed being out in society again and swept across the dance floor by my husband, who is, undeniably, as dashing and handsome and attentive as ever. We had the most wonderful time resorting to our old favourite pastime of gossiping about the other people in attendance. We did, however, also have the most wonderful time sneaking back into the house well after midnight and into the nursery to marvel at our sleeping child for a while before we retreated to bed._

♡

_I do wish my husband would try to hide a little better how much my temper amuses him! As we were in the middle of the most passionate argument today and I threw a carafe of Bohemian crystal at him, he had the audacity to catch it and plead with me to throw something else instead for he truly loves this carafe! How is a woman to stay angry with a man like this!_

♡

_I am in so much pain today, my feet refuse to carry me. We danced the night away at dear Victor’s wedding. How beautiful they looked, both him and his new husband! How happy. It is impossible not to share their happiness, it is most contagious. I believe they must be soul mates, the way they seem made for each other._

♡

_Oh, how quickly the tide can turn in the course of just one night! My husband has just told me the most unbelievable story! While I was sleeping off the most elating exhaustion his wedding left me with, dear Victor came to call this very morning… I shudder to think what he must have lived through last night, and it makes my heart ache most terribly in my chest. I will not write down here what happened, for dear Victor shared his story in confidence. Suffice it to say that my heart aches for him, no, for the both of them. How cruel is fate, that the kindest, most beautiful people will have to carry the heaviest burden._

_My husband and I spent a long time sitting with our child tonight, feeling gratitude for his small hands pulling our hair and every single one of the few words he is yet able to speak, for the breaths making his small chest rise and fall as he slept, his cheeks plump and rosy. No parent should ever have to lose any of this, all the joys of having a small person that came from you and owns your heart and soul and your very being. I wept a little thinking about dear Yuuri’s loss, and then I wept a lot for both him and dear Victor and the happiness I thought they had yesterday, because today everything has changed. From the trembling in the arm my husband slung around my shoulder, I know he feels very much the same kind of pain._

♡

_I called on dear Yuuri. I told neither my husband nor Victor about it, but I could not help myself. I felt the sweet man needs a friend, like my husband is a friend to dear Victor. I am so glad he chose to remain in town, although I cannot understand how he can lead a secluded life in Victor’s house when they so clearly love each other. The small smile I was able to draw from him when I promised to come see him again felt like a huge accomplishment._

♡

_Another photographer came to take our family portraits. My husband’s fondness of all things modern is endearing to behold, he does quite turn into a child on Christmas morning on such occasions. He insisted I have my photograph taken with Alexander alone, claiming he would like it for his study. Silly man! The photographer and his assistant were most embarrassed when I adjusted the front of my dress just the slightest bit. I could see they found it most improper for a lady to expose a glimpse of skin. My husband just laughed and nodded his approval. I am a most lucky woman!_

♡

_Today in a heated argument I threw a vase at my husband. To my greatest satisfaction he was not able to catch it in time and it shattered against the bedroom door. Afterwards, as our argument was resolved, like so many others before, in bed, I did apologise for destroying his favourite vase. Much to my surprise he started chuckling and confessed that he had never liked the ghastly thing, but had merely clung to it so fervently because it was a wedding gift from his great-aunt Philomena. I laughed so much after staring at him in bewilderment for the longest time. The man never fails to surprise me!_

♡

_The most wonderful news: dear Yuuri and Victor are reconciled! I will admit I sat and cried with sheer relief and happiness for quite a while when I heard! After the hardships they have had to endure, they deserve all the happiness._

♡

_Something we have been aiming to avoid at all costs happened today! Yuuri met Alexander! Normally I would take greatest pride in showing off my beautiful son to everybody. But knowing that dear Yuuri lost his own child in the Great Famine, not only Victor but also my husband and I took great care in avoiding pain for him at all costs. And we all agreed that surely the encounter with small children the age his own child would be now would cause him great anguish. My chubby baby however, as it turns out, has much taken to act upon his own stubborn little head since he has learned to walk and will often escape us or the nanny as fast as his pudgy little legs will carry him. He ran away from dear Victor and his father today and found Yuuri at the lower end of our garden. By the time they discovered him, he was playing with Yuuri in the flower beds, and even though my husband tells me he took great pains in apologising and promising that this would not happen again, and Yuuri looked very much in great distress, he was also quite adamant at insisting that Alexander is not to be kept from him for he finds his presence quite soothing._

_To think that someone would feel like this about my child makes me cry. Of course I feel the same, but I am his mother! I am bound to feel like this about the boy._

_Dear Victor tells me that Yuuri quite scolded him for keeping Alexander out of his way, even though he understands why he did so. And Victor told him he thought it would cause him pain, and Yuuri said it did, but at the same time it also gave him comfort. Now, Victor is convinced even more that the mere presence of his little Sascha has healing powers. My heart wants to burst in my chest. This darling man!_

♡

_I have been feeling most dreadful as of late. My temper is unbearable even to myself. My husband has been avoiding me, and I fear the day that I have been dreading since before we were betrothed has now come - he spends more and more time away from me. I can see from the state of his study that he is quite busy, and we see in the papers every day that these are busy days for barristers. However! I fear I might have snapped at him once too often. For where he would chuckle and call me ‘Agatha’ before, smoothing my temper just with that, he will now retreat from the room and leave me to my miserable self._

♡

_The reason for my foul mood is now clear to me - I am with child again. Everything is so different from when I carried Alexander. I cried for one whole hour this morning because I was violently sick even before breakfast. My body looks monstrous, my skin diseased. I cannot stand the touch, not even the presence of another person, yet while I drive everyone from my vicinity, I feel miserable and unloved. It is no surprise that my husband sleeps in a different room these days._

♡

_I feel so foolish! I believed I had cried enough but here my tears are blotching and staining the pages of this diary again! As I was sitting in our garden this afternoon leafing listlessly through the pages of a book that I was waiting to hold in my hands for so long but that now fails to hold my interest for more than two lines, suddenly my husband approached me._

_Since the early days of his courtship my face has not burned this much over something that he did. He held our son by the hand, walking slowly and crookedly bent down so that Alexander was able to keep up with him on his sturdy legs. Both of them holding bouquets of flowers in their hands. And when my son gave me his flowers and wandered off to the nearest flower bed to pick some more, my husband went down on one knee like last he did when he asked for my hand in marriage!_

_He took my hands into his and forced me to look at his face as he declared his love for me and his gratitude for giving him our child and choosing to spend my life by his side. He said he has well noticed that I have been sorting the papers on his desk and leaving hints that steered him towards more successful business endeavours. Has anyone ever heard of a husband doing such an outrageous thing! I was crying and laughing at the same time! I thought he did not love me anymore, and he kissed me, right there in our garden! God only knows who could see!_

_Later, in our bedroom, my husband cherished my body like I am the most beautiful woman in the world, until everything that is heavy and unshapely about me became beautiful to me through his eyes. It is unheard of, and if anyone knew, I would most possibly die of the shame. A man keeps his distance from a woman when she is with child. But my husband is quite possibly the most extraordinary man ever, claiming he wants to share in the wonder we have created together._

_My face is aflame, I fear I will need to burn the pages of this diary!_

♡

_For three days we have not entertained any guests, reacquainting ourselves with the deep bond we share and spending every one of his waking hours playing with our son in the nursery or the garden, marvelling over the fact that soon there is to be another little angel like him in our lives._

_But today we had dear Victor and Yuuri over for tea, which we took in the pavilion in the gardens. And I am sure from the looks and smiles that I witnessed between my husband and dear Yuuri, while Victor was chasing his little Sascha around the hedges, that Yuuri had something to do with encouraging my husband’s most romantic declaration of love. How I am going to miss him when they have moved to Ireland!_

♡

_Both my husband and my son are insufferable since dear Victor moved to Ireland to start his new life. They miss him so much. They do not know that I have been corresponding back and forth with dear Yuuri and we have been planning for us to visit them since the day we said our goodbyes._

♡

_I was this morning delivered of a healthy girl. She looks like a perfect angel, belying all the troubles and pain carrying and giving birth to her entitled. My husband refuses to put her down for one minute, which causes much confusion to our physician and the midwife as well as to both our parents. They are not used to seeing doting fathers. At least the midwife does not frown upon it._

♡

_We are in Ireland. The passage across the sea was exhausting with two small children, one of them not yet weaned, but my husband was quite the help, keeping our son entertained while I took long naps with the little one. Now that we are here, all the hardships of the journey seem forgotten. And all our little Victoria’s fussing stopped the moment dear Yuuri held her. He is quite the magician with infants!_

_Dear Victor and Yuuri are building a beautiful life for themselves and the community. It gives me great joy to hear them laughing so much. I felt a pain in my heart for a long time, knowing they can have no children of their own. But they are surrounded by children here, taking in little ones who lost their parents in the famine or illness derived from it. It feels like this is soothing to them both, healing the wounds in their soul. Yuuri does not know it, but dear Victor is learning the native language from the locals. He has decreed that it is no longer forbidden on his lands. He is learning how to confess his love for Yuuri in Yuuri’s native tongue, and the thought of it makes my heart dance with affection for the both of them and my eyes burn with happy tears._

_I am taking long walks with dear Yuuri around the countryside and he is a changed person here. This is truly his home, these are his lands, his people. He is at peace, and so happy. On one of our walks he took me to the grave by the riverside where his wife and child lie resting. My heart felt so heavy in my chest as I laid down flowers and spent some time, thinking about the dreadful pain the loss of a child implies, and saying so many prayers of gratitude for my own healthy two romping around these green fields at the same time. I like to believe that she is resting peacefully, knowing that dear Yuuri has found new happiness, that he is loved, and that his life has new purpose._

♡

_London feels dull without our dearest friends. I was hoping for the Baroness to return, now that we know for sure that dear Yuuri is safe from his true identity being revealed. Alas, she enjoys her life in Italy far too much and will not be returning any time soon. In her latest letter she mentioned a dashing artist she has met in Florence who is currently courting her as she is enjoying the summer in his villa in Tuscany._

♡

_Great-aunt Philomena came to visit and almost instantly started looking around for that vase she gave us. I had to hide my face in my handkerchief when my husband expressed his most heartfelt regret over how the children broke the very vase at play, leaving all of us inconsolable. Great-aunt Philomena believed him, for she also saw me dab what she thought were tears of distress from my eyes. Pray she never finds out they were tears of mirth!_

♡

_Married life is not at all what I expected. It is far better! I never feel it as strongly as when I pay a visit to Mama or most of my married friends. I forget that it is not common for them to share a newspaper with their husbands and talk frankly about current politics. I forget that most other husbands do not ask for their honest opinion. I even forgot that Papa never made Mama as much as part of his business matters as he made me before he decided I was to be married._

_I feel confined when we are accepting invites and I have to sit with the ladies in separate rooms, drinking tea and eating dainty sandwiches, talking about children and charity functions, the flaws of household staff and how one better always counts one’s silver… while I can hear the menfolk laughing and talking animately about arts and politics in the drawing room. When I feel stuck with the ladies, worse than in my tightest corset, forced to listen while I have a million more interesting things to say and while most of these women cannot even talk about their children without having to consult their nannies first._

_By far the best part about those obligatory visits are the rides home in the carriage when I can remove the pins from my hair - unless my husband does it first with a smooth “This is far better, Rosemary, your beautiful hair tumbling free!” - and we can laugh about the silliness of people and discuss interesting topics he came to know in the drawing room._

♡

_As all of London’s aristocracy is planning for the summer in the countryside and the first invitations to picnics and dances are pouring in, my husband announced at tea today that we will not be going to the country this year. Instead, we are all travelling to the continent. We shall be spending the summer in Europe. I am sure I shall be able to share my husband’s and three of our children’s excitement as soon as I have comforted the two who have already made plans to see their friends in the countryside, and our oldest who was all set on going to Ireland again this year._

♡

_As straining as travelling with six children is, we are having the greatest time._

_I am writing this in a meadow in the Swiss mountains, lying barefoot and in my loosest dress on a blanket in the high grass and amid the wild flowers that smell most enticingly of summer. We have visited Paris, then Rome and Venice, and we called on the dear Baroness and her artist friend in Tuscany, who spoilt us with the most delicious food for our thoughts and stomachs for two wonderful weeks. Now we are on the last part of your journey, visiting the places where my husband’s family hails from and where he spent many happy childhood days in Switzerland. Two days ago we left the heat of the city behind and climbed up to this small chalet in the mountains where it is much cooler. It is so good for the children to see some of the world, converse in different languages and learn about different cultures and history. We live on little more than bread and cheese and fresh spring water up here, and they jump around in their camisoles all day long, but I have rarely seen them so free and happy. I am aware that I am biased, but they do look like a band of angels tumbling around the Swiss meadows, all of them sporting the same curly blond hair and the green or blue eyes they got from me or their father._

_Last night my shameless husband, the moment the children were asleep, took me for a moonlight stroll and did not let the opportunity pass to glance at the mountains and then at my décolletage, remarking “Still much more beautiful, Rosemary!” and making me laugh and blush as if we were still in our twenties._

♡

_I have announced this morning to my husband that six children are quite enough and that he is to find ways and means to prevent getting me with child again without us having to miss out on our marital pleasures. I have also announced to him that should he seek his pleasures elsewhere I shall make sure to render him physically incapable of ever doing so again._

_I am pleased to say that he was most impressed and has begun to look into available measures already._

♡

_Our little Imogen’s much anticipated play date with the Ashburys’ youngest daughter was cut unexpectedly short when the Lord and Lady themselves called on us this morning while we were enjoying a cup of tea in the winter garden, our daughter crying bitter tears in their company as they were seen in. As it turned out, our Imogen asked the Ashburys’ daughter, very innocently, at the breakfast table, why her parents were so cold towards each other. She then went on to explain, no doubt triggered by this dull family’s shocked reactions, that it is quite normal in our house that her Papa pulls her Mama into his lap at the breakfast table and feds her something from his plate. Lord and Lady Ashbury saw it fit to cut the visit short and drag a confused five-year-old away from their table and from their house with no explanation and no word of comfort as she must have sat crying in their carriage all the way to our house. They dared tell us, in our own home, that our Imogen is no fit company for their daughter, corrupting her with stories about her parents’ outrageous behaviour._

_I was just about to give both Lord and Lady Ashbury a piece of my mind when my husband lowered his newspaper. He folded it very patiently in his lap before he rose slowly from his armchair and stepped towards Lord Ashbury with blazing eyes. He thanked them very calmly and decisively for their trouble taking Imogen home and went on to tell them that he very much regrets their decision, on their children’s behalf, but that it is just as well, as children of such quaint and outdated upbringing are no fit company for ours._

_I did not think it possible, yet after all these years I believe this morning I fell in love with the man all over again!_

♡

_Clearing out one of my old trunks bought to light a dance card misplaced many years ago. While I had to confess it was not mislaid quite as accidentally as I had made everyone believe at the time, my husband insisted on claiming every single dance on that card as he had meant to do when he was courting me._

_He had the dining room cleared of all furniture and musicians come, then after supper, he asked me to dance. At some point the children woke and filed in in their night gowns, and they were paired off and made to dance as well, as was our butler with the nanny who came in to catch the children missing from their beds. What fun we had, how much we laughed as we waltzed and swirled through the dining room! I have attended so many balls and dances, but this was the most wonderful of them all!_

♡

_We have just this day returned from Ireland, where we spent another most wonderful summer with dear Victor and Yuuri on their estates. The summers are so much more pleasant there than they are here in the city of London, and much more pleasant too than the summers in the English countryside with their boring picnics and days spent in utter uselessness on the beach of some seaside resort. … Alas, there is one thing about our recent journey to Ireland that causes me grief and joy alike - our darling Alexander has chosen not to come home with us. He wants to stay in Ireland some time, learn the ways of the land. Foolish boy! Like we do not know that it is the ways of the pretty local girls he is most keen on learning. We did after all find him in the stables as we were all set to embark on our return journey in a most promiscuous position, and I do not believe for one second it was by accident he fell all over this girl and landed with his lips on her mouth._

_While my husband was most outraged, dear Victor merely laughed and asked him why he was surprised, after all, he displayed the same kind of behaviour at that age. Oh!, to have had one of those photographers my husband is so fond of present at that very moment to capture the expression on his face!_

_I am not concerned for the wellbeing of my son in Ireland, after all, he has always shared a close bond with dear Victor. Victor and Yuuri have built the most beautiful, enchanting home, and they do so much good for the people there. Everything Alexander learns from them will serve him well throughout his life. Nevertheless, I do feel like a piece of my heart was left behind, despite the fact that I brought five others still home with me._

_He may be past his sixteenth birthday now and taller even than his father, but to me, he shall always remain my precious firstborn, my chubby baby!_

♡

_There is no knowing if one ever finds each other again in another lifetime. In case we do not, I shall leave this message here for my husband, who is so very good at doing all things a gentleman is not supposed to do, like reading a lady’s diary. It is for this reason alone that I am going to write these words that no lady is supposed to ever say this bluntly to her husband:_

_Christophe, I love you very much. You should know that I am beyond grateful for the life we share, for our beautiful children, and for there never being a single day in our life that passes without laughter._

_You should also know that I am well aware of your feelings when I catch you looking at me with the same adoration and expression of home that I see on dear Victor’s face every time he looks at his Yuuri, every time they look at each other._

_It is as dear Yuuri has said to me once when I told him about my initial reluctance to be married off to a playboy whose name I did not want to carry. All our aversions and differences are weak and meaningless when we recognise our missing half in another person, no matter how much we may believe we despise them. Some things are meant to be. Hearts beating the same beat._

_A love that is already eternal before it begins._

_Such are the songs of our soul._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Have all my love and some luck of the Irish. 💗☘️


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